(LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  or 
CALIFORNIA 
.  SAN  OIEGO 


> 


POEMS  OF 
HARRY  RANDOLPH  BLYTHE 


POEMS 


OF 


HARRY  RANDOLPH  BLTTHE 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,   BY  LUCILE  EDSON    BLYTHE 


TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

HARRY  RANDOLPH  BLYTHE 

WITH    LOVE   AND    DEVOTION 
BY 

HIS  WIFE 
LUCILE  BODWELL  BLYTHE 

To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind  is  not  to  die. 


"  ///  should  meet  a  man  whose  face  was  more 
arresting  than  Napoleon's,  sterner  than  Bis 
marck's,  serener  than  Raskin's,  milder  than 
Emerson's,  more  spiritual  than  Drummond's, 
and  sadder  than  Lincoln's;  a  man  whose  face 
showed  that  he  possessed  at  once  the  chained 
rage  of  Vesuvius,  the  indefinable  reserve  of 
mountains,  the  vast  peace  of  oceans,  and  the 
fathomless  resource  of  all  nature;  a  man  whose 
lineaments  of  expression  made  one  know  that 
he  understood  the  titanic  struggle  of  the  poor, 
the  fierce  remorse  of  the  sinner,  the  despair  of 
the  lonely,  the  intense  longings  of  the  helpless, 
the  great  joy  of  the  virtuous,  and  the  liberating 
enthusiasm  of  the  repented;  —  if  I  should  meet 
such  a  man  on  the  streets  of  a  great  city  in  this 
generation,  I  would  pause  before  him  in  rever 
ent  silence,  believing  that  I  stood  in  the  presence 
of  Him  whom  prophecy  tells  us  is  to  come  again 
—  the  beloved  Son  of  Man." 

H.  R.  BLYTHE. 


CONTENTS 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH .         .  rrii 

MODERN   LIFE 

A  RAILROAD  YARD  AT  NIGHT 3 

AFTER  THEATER       ...  4 

IN  AN  AEROPLANE « 

THE  OMINOUS  TIMES 6 

TO  WAR 7 

WE  HAVE  DREAMED  TOO  MUCH  OF  GOLD        ....  8 

ACROSS  THE  CITY 10 

FLOWER  DAY H 

A  WRECKED  LOCOMOTIVE 12 

LANDING  AT  DAWN 13 

MAN  MUST  DO  MORE  FOR  MAN 14 

THE  CITY 18 

TO  LABOR I7 

SOUNDS  OF  THE  CITY 18 

THE  ANSWER  OF  BOSTON 19 

SONG  OF  THE  SUPERMAN 21 

MIRACLES 22 

ON  THE  NIGHT  EXPRESS 23 

ix 


CONTENTS 

AN  OCEAN  GREYHOUND 24 

TOY  DAY 25 

A  TVESTEBN  WASTE 26 

LOVE'S  WORD 27 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 28 

THE  FINAL  WAR 29 

AT  A  SEACOAST  TAVERN 31 

ADMIRAL  EVANS 32 

THE  UNITED  STATES  SUPREME  COURT          ....  33 

JAMES  BARR  AMES 34 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE 35 

LOVE  AND  SENTIMENT 

PETITION 39 

DEATHLESS  LOVE 40 

HIS  VICTORY 41 

IF  LIFE  WERE  PASSING 42 

THE  WIND  OF  NOVEMBER 43 

TO  AN  ABSENT  FRIEND 44 

TO  A  FRIEND 45 

THE  DAWN  OF  EVENING  46 

THE  COMING 47 

PETITION 48 

SING  A  SONG 49 

X 


CONTENTS 

TO  AN  OLD  SWEETHEAET 50 

THE  MEANING 51 

COMPENSATION 52 

THE  WATERS  OF  LETHE 53 

FORGET-ME-NOTS 54 

THE  LOST  LOVE 56 

THE  DREAM  GIEL 57 

WHERE  SHE  HAS  GONE 58 

A  SONNET  TO  YOU! 59 

RECOGNITION 60 

IN  AN  ANCIENT  LAND 62 

CUPID  IN  AMBUSH 64 

DISCOVERY 65 

A  MEMORY 67 

TO  MY  SWEETHEART 68 

WHERE  IS  ARCADY? 69 

TO  ELIZABETH 70 

THE  MISTAKE 71 

THE  BLUNDER 72 

UP  TO  ME 73 

SPIRITUAL  AND  RELIGIOUS 

FOR  THE  SOUL'S  KEEPING .77 

AWAKENING 78 

xi 


CONTENTS 

THE  SOUL 79 

AD  ASTRA  PER  ASPERA! 80 

MESSAGES 81 

I  WOULD  NOT  HAVE  IT  SO 82 

THE  FLOWERS  OF  ETERNITY 83 

VALUES 84 

OUT  OF  DARKNESS 85 

THE  TRUCE 87 

RESERVES 88 

THE  FOOD  OF  THE  SOUL 89 

THE  BATTLE  MUSIC 90 

RESIGNATION 91 

THE  VEIL 92 

THE  SOUL-PATH 93 

YEARNING 96 

GOD  IS  NOT  MOCKED 97 

SHEKLA:    A  VISION 98 

THE  PATIENT  WAYS 105 

THE  TALENTS 10P 

A  SONG  OF  SALVATION 107 

HE  WILL  GIVE  ME  POWER 108 

I  WILL  HAVE  FAITH 109 

RELEASE 110 

xii 


CONTENTS 

THE  SHRINE 112 

THE  GLORY  OF  ISRAEL 113 

THE  LOVE  THAT  PURIFIED 114 

THEIR  EASTER  AND  OURS 115 

TIME 117 

THE  MODERN  JUDAS 118 

CHRISTMAS  EVE 119 

DESCRIPTIVE 

UNINITIATED 123 

THE  VANISHED  MOUNTAINS 124 

APPREHENSION 125 

NIAGARA 126 

CASTLES  OF  THE  SEA 127 

THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON 129 

THE  DEMON  DAWN 131 

ON  THE  BEACH  AT  EVENING 132 

FANCY-LAND 133 

THE  BIRTHPLACE  OF  DREAMS 134 

A  VILLANELLE  OF  SPRING 135 

A  NIGHT  FANCY 136 

THE  HAPPY  LAND 137 

THE  WHITE  EAGLE 138 

THE  VALLEY 139 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

BESIDE  THE  SHORE  ROAD 140 

THE  PIRATEER 142 

SONG  OF  THE  WHITE  COMPANY 143 

THE  RANGE  OF  BEAUTY 145 

CAPTIVE 146 

DARTMOUTH 

THE  LADS  THAT  ONCE  I  KNEW 151 

THE  PEACE  OF  COLLEGE 152 

A  VILLANELLE  OF  COLLEGE 153 

MISSING 154 

WE  GATHER  BACK 155 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  LIGHT-HEARTED 156 

DARTMOUTH 157 

THE  GREEN  GRENADIERS 158 

FIGHT 159 

THE  CHRISTENING  OF  THE  STADIUM 161 

THE  WORLD'S  RECORD 163 

NO  MORE  DREAMING 164 

THE  SPIRIT  IS  TRUE 165 

PLAINT  OF  A  YOUNG  LAWYER 167 

TO  WEBSTER 169 

THE  DEPARTED 171 

THE  ANCIENT  THREE 172 

xiv 


CONTENTS 

INAUGURATION  SONNETS 174 

CLASS  POEM 178 

THIRD  REUNION  POEM 18o 

THY  DREAMS  ARE  THE  DEEDS  OF  MEN      ....  183 

THE  LAST  MAN       ...  185 


THIS  little  book  is  published  in  the  memory  of  one 
whose  life  was  cut  off  in  the  vigor  of  young  manhood. 
These  pages  give  expression  to  his  ideals,  —  ideals 
which  he  never  suffered  to  depart  from  him,  and 
which  he  has  left  behind  him  in  the  hearts  of  his  friends. 
It  was  in  his  own  heart  to  give  his  life  to  poetry;  it 
was  his  hope  to  write  at  some  time  songs  to  which 
the  world  would  listen.  We  cannot  tell  what  he  might 
have  done.  Behind  his  dream  was  faith  and  energy 
and  accomplishment.  Intensely  and  persistently  he 
dedicated  himself  to  high  conceptions  and  to  their 
expression.  His  life  might  have  realized  his  dream, 
for  only  the  dreams  of  those  light  sleepers  who  dream 
faintly  are  futile.  He  entertained  no  vague  and  doubt 
ing  ambition.  His  hopes  were  high;  his  faith  was 
strong;  there  lay  in  his  very  persistence,  if  not  in  these 
verses  now  given  to  the  world,  the  promise  of  success. 

Harry  Randolph  Blythe  was  born  in  the  little  town 
of  Kirkwood,  Illinois,  June  12,  1882.  He  was  the  son 
of  James  Clinton  Blythe  and  Laura  Anne  Randolph. 
He  attended  the  public  schools  of  Kirkwood,  and  upon 
removal  of  his  family  to  Aurora,  Illinois,  he  entered 
the  East  Aurora  High  School,  from  which  he  gradu- 

xvii 


HARRY  RANDOLPH  BLYTHE 

ated  in  1901.  He  matriculated  at  Dartmouth  College 
on  September  22,  1903,  and  received  the  degree  of 
Bachelor  of  Science  with  the  class  of  1907. 

It  was  at  Dartmouth  that  he  first  gave  expression 
to  his  literary  talent.  He  won  the  Undergraduate 
Prize  for  Fiction  in  1904,  and  the  Pacific  Coast  Alumni 
Prize  in  American  Literature  in  1905.  He  won  the 
Lockwood  Prize  in  1906,  with  an  essay  of  superior  merit 
entitled,  A  Comparison  of  Keats  and  Shelley.  He  also 
won  prizes  for  oratory.  Aside  from  his  studies,  he  gave 
most  of  his  attention  to  what  was  then  known  as  the 
Dartmouth  Literary  Magazine.  Because  of  his  earnest 
endeavor  and  delight  in  literary  work,  the  Magazine 
regained  its  former  place  of  dignity  as  the  medium  of 
undergraduate  literary  activity.  He  was  a  constant 
contributor  and  was  elected  to  its  board  of  editors, 
rising  in  his  senior  year  to  the  position  of  editor-in- 
chief.  Many  of  the  poems  that  appear  in  this  book 
were  first  published  in  the  Dartmouth  Literary  Maga 
zine.  He  was  responsible  also  during  his  connection 
with  the  Magazine  for  several  stories  which  were  en 
tertaining  but  of  little  value.  His  talent  did  not  lie  in 
that  direction. 

At  college  his  many  and  varied  interests  revealed 
his  versatility  and  popularity.  He  engaged  extensively 
in  athletics,  representing  his  college  upon  the  field  and 
track,  as  a  pole-vaulter  and  broad  jumper.  He  was 
elected  president  of  his  class  in  his  freshman  year,  and 
xviii 


HARRY  RANDOLPH   BLYTHE 

vice-president  in  his  senior  year.  He  also  took  part 
in  debating  and  football.  In  his  studies  he  ranked  with 
the  upper  half  of  his  class.  His  inclination  led  him  to 
specialize  in  English  and  Literature,  and  in  the  many 
courses  which  he  took  in  these  subjects  he  was  re 
warded  with  high  rank.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Delta 
Tau  Delta  National  Fraternity  and  of  the  Masonic 
Lodge  of  Lebanon,  New  Hampshire. 

The  part  that  Dartmouth  College  played  in  his  life 
is  reflected  by  the  poems  found  on  the  closing  pages 
of  this  book.  His  acknowledged  debt  to  his  Alma  Mater 
is  expressed  in  the  class  poem  read  at  his  graduation. 
No  man  was  more  sincere  than  he  in  his  loyalty  to  his 
college.  The  associations  that  clung  about  his  life  in 
the  little  town  of  Hanover  were  dear  to  him,  and  his 
literary  gift  colored  those  associations  and  wove  about 
them  a  charm  upon  which  he  liked  to  dwell.  His  Dart 
mouth  verse  thrills  with  the  pride  that  he  felt  in  the 
athletic  victories  of  his  college.  It  portrays  the  life  and 
the  spirit  of  the  undergraduates  as  he  experienced 
them  in  his  daily  intercourse.  It  strikes  the  chord  of 
the  democracy  of  which  he  was  a  part,  and  expresses 
the  vigor  and  virility  of  the  New  England  College  of 
the  North.  Even  when  he  left  Hanover,  the  spell  was 
upon  him.  He  looked  back  in  reminiscence.  He  saw 
the  old  halls,  "The  Ancient  Three,"  in  one  of  which 
he  had  lived,  standing  on  the  rise  of  ground  above  the 
campus  in  the  full  red  glow  of  the  setting  sun;  and 

xix 


HARRY  RANDOLPH   BLYTHE 

opposite  them,  facing  the  east,  the  New  Dartmouth, 
symbolized  in  Massachusetts  Row.  For  him 

"  The  moon  o'er  the  hills  to-night, 
The  setting  of  Youth's  delight "  ; 

and  though  his  lot  was  cast,  "where  bitter  conflicts 
rage,"  there  was  ever  with  him  that  repose  under  the 
"hills  and  giant  elms,"  which  he  so  sympathetically 
expressed  in  "The  Peace  of  College."  And  one  may 
gather  the  depth  and  breadth  of  his  friendships  from 
the  little  poem  that  opens  the  brief  collection  relating 
to  Dartmouth  in  this  book.  There  are  but  twenty-two 
of  these  poems.  Their  literary  value  may  not  be  great, 
but  they  represent  what  he  had  already  accomplished 
in  the  realization  of  one  of  his  greatest  desires, —  the 
publication  of  a  book  of  Dartmouth  verse. 

Upon  graduating  from  Dartmouth  in  1907,  Harry 
Randolph  Blythe  entered  the  Harvard  Law  School. 
He  received  the  degree  of  LL.B.  in  1910,  and  was  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar  of  Massachusetts  in  August  of  the 
same  year.  He  associated  himself  with  the  Boston 
law  firm  of  Hallowell  &  Hammond,  and  was  still  with 
them  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

On  October  12,  1912,  he  was  united  in  marriage  to 
Miss  Lucile  Edson  Bodwell,  of  Lynn,  Massachusetts. 
He  established  his  home  in  Swampscott.  Happy  in  his 
marriage  and  in  the  promise  of  a  successful  legal  career, 
looking  forward  to  the  time  when  he  might  devote 

xx 


HARRY   RANDOLPH   BLYTHE 

more  and  more  of  his  life  exclusively  to  literature, 
he  died  very  suddenly  in  the  quiet  and  contentment 
of  his  little  home  on  February  27, 1913,  after  an  illness 
of  a  week.  He  was  buried  at  Lynn,  Massachusetts, 
and  there  gathered  about  his  grave  the  sorrowing 
friends  who  only  four  months  before  had  smilingly 
waved  him  godspeed  on  his  wedding  journey. 

Since  death  removed  him  so  suddenly,  it  is  of  course 
to  be  expected  that  this  volume  contains  many  verses 
which  he  cannot  be  said  to  have  finished.  There  are 
doubtless  many  lines  which  he  would  not  have  given 
to  the  world  before  they  had  been  tuned  to  more 
rhythm,  or  imbued  with  more  beauty  of  expression. 
And  there  are  whole  poems  upon  which  he  seemed 
already  to  have  passed  adverse  judgment.  Yet  there 
are  others  which  will  be  familiar  to  the  readers  of  the 
Springfield  Republican,  the  Boston  Transcript,  and 
other  Boston  newspapers.  In  the  Watchman  also  has 
appeared  much  of  his  work,  while  the  Outlook  has  pub 
lished  a  poem  entitled  "A  Railroad  Yard  at  Night." 
Several  legal  poems  which  appeared  in  the  Green  Bag 
have  not  been  included  in  this  book. 

The  religious  tenor  of  many  of  his  poems  may  come 
as  a  surprise  to  some  of  his  friends.  Yet  they  will 
understand  when  they  remember  that  it  is  sometimes 
what  a  man  feels  most  deeply  that  he  withholds  from 
those  with  whom  he  is  most  intimate.  What  Harry 
Blythe  kept  back  in  personal  conversation,  what  lay 

xxi 


HAERY   RANDOLPH   BLYTHE 

beneath  his  quiet  reserve,  he  has  revealed  to  us  in 
poetry.  He  had  religious  faith.  He  was  obedient  to 
spiritual  impulses.  He  had  assurance  that  somehow  he 
would  be  guided  to  an  understanding  and  apprecia 
tion  of  vast  mysteries  of  which  men  knew  little.  He 
loved  the  mystical  and  tried  to  give  expression  to  it 
in  his  poetry. 

And  yet  such  dreaming  did  not  make  him  forget 
the  life  around  him,  the  sheer  delights  and  glories  of  its 
struggle.  He  had  experienced  them  and  could  write 
of  them.  He  had  lived  in  the  clamoring  vitality  of  the 
city.  He  tried,  even  if  he  did  not  succeed,  to  interpret 
the  murmur  that  rose  from  its  steel-braced  canyons  and 
from  its  hurrying  crowds.  The  opening  poems  of  this 
book  tell  of  his  outlook  upon  the  life  around  him. 

It  was  while  at  college  that  he  wrote  many  of  the 
poems  included  under  the  title,  Love  and  Sentiment. 
They  show  a  lighter  vein.  They  please  and  entertain 
like  happy  trifles.  They  represent,  most  of  them,  the 
first  chords  that  he  struck  upon  his  lyre.  They  reveal 
the  facility  of  his  pen.  The  gift  which  he  had,  seemed 
easy  hi  application.  So  easily  did  he  write  that  there 
was  danger  that  he  would  not  choose  and  discriminate. 
This  fault,  if  it  was  a  fault,  he  labored  with.  As  he  ma 
tured,  he  sought  more  and  more  deeply  the  underlying 
significances.  That  he  would  have  measured  in  time 
the  depths  and  heights  that  only  poets  measure,  one 
cannot  doubt. 

xxii 


HARRY  RANDOLPH   BLYTHE 

It  is  pleasant  to  call  back  into  vision  the  person  of 
Harry  Blythe.  There  was  friendliness  and  goodness 
in  his  large  deep  eyes,  in  his  slowly  breaking  smile  and 
subdued  laughter.  The  black  hah*  brushed  back  from  a 
white,  prominent  brow  gave  him  added  height.  His 
frame  was  stalwart  and  athletic.  He  had  the  carriage 
and  grace  of  one  whose  body  was  trained  to  exercise. 
There  was  an  unconscious  dignity  or  distinction  in  the 
repose  of  his  face.  His  features  seemed  to  suggest  a 
serenity  of  soul. 

But  it  was  his  real  personality  and  not  his  physical 
characteristics  that  endeared  him  to  people.  He  had  a 
quiet  charm  in  which  there  was  something  fascinating. 
He  never  knew  deceit.  He  was  always  warm-hearted 
and  charitable.  Frank,  open,  and  honest  with  all,  he 
kept  back  nothing  but  the  high  resolve  that  one  day  he 
would  realize  his  hope,  that  his  mind  like  a  searchlight 
would  pierce  the  incomprehensible  mysteries  of  which 
dim  intimations  came  to  him,  and  his  pen  would  trans 
late  their  meaning  to  the  world.  "For,"  he  said,  "the 
greatest  poem  of  all  ages  is  yet  to  be  written." 


MODERN    LIFE 


A  RAILROAD  YARD  AT  NIGHT 

FAINT  forms  of  giant  buildings  in  the  night 
Across  the  flat,  steel  spider-web  are  seen, 
While  like  strange  stars  the  lamps  of  red  and  green 
Hang  in  the  ebon  air  at  every  height 
In  placid  peace  with  all  the  lamps  of  white. 
Beyond  the  bridge  the  weary  cars  convene, 
Sunk  in  a  slumber  soundless  and  serene, 
Wrapped  well  in  robes  of  darkness  recondite: 
But  here  the  trembling  engines  thunder  by, 
Drawing  their  trains  of  peopled  palace  cars, 
The  great  black  beasts  of  beauty  sing  and  sigh, 
The  whistles  cut  the  air  like  scimitars, 
And  these  much-traveled  tracks  of  traffic  lie 
Gleaming  of  silver  underneath  the  stars. 


AFTER  THEATER 

INTO  the  exit-ways  the  winter  air 
Surges  in  tides  as  bracing  as  the  brine, 
It  swirls  around  the  carriages  in  line 
And  plays  upon  the  plumes  that  women  wear; 
This  is  the  grim,  old  grinding  world  of  care, 
How  hard  its  lamps  upon  the  pavement  shine! 
Fate  fashioned  it  no  fairy-land  divine 
Such  as  we  saw  beyond  the  footlight's  flare, 
But  it  has  joy  no  world  of  dreams  can  give. 
Hark  to  the  horses  hammering  down  the  street! 
List  to  the  murmur  where  the  many  meet ! 
These  are  the  lips  of  life  demonstrative, 
Here  are  the  human  hearts  which  really  beat, 
And  here  the  place  where  dreams  and  dramas  live. 


IN  AN  AEROPLANE 

MERGED  in  a  moving  picture  earth  goes  by, 
Shriveled,  and  shorn  of  sound.    Its  lakes  and  streams 
And  mighty  ocean  float  but  toy  triremes 
Which  have  the  pace  of  snails  when  viewed  on  high. 
Like  children's  jumbled  blocks  the  cities  lie, 
While  men  are  but  an  emmet-race  which  teems 
Throughout  their  lace-like  labyrinth  of  dreams, 
Watching  our  white-winged  ship  go  down  the  sky. 
Ah,  here  is  freedom,  —  freedom  vaster  far 
Than  Triton's  salt-whipped  leagues  of  liberty. 
Now  we  are  comrades  to  the  moon  and  star, 
The  azure  pioneers  of  realms  to  be, 
For  we  can  go  in  this  frail  mounted  car 
Close  to  the  confines  of  eternity. 


THE  OMINOUS  TIMES 

OMINOUS  are  the  times.   They  seem  to  be 
A  restless  ocean  'neath  a  sky  of  gloom 
On  whose  horizons  bolts  of  thunder  boom, 
Portending  storm,  —  while  pale  humanity 
Is  huddled  in  a  ship  which  breasts  the  sea, 
Ploughing  for  some  fair  port  where  there  is  room 
For  all  to  flee  the  dreaded  cloud  of  doom 
Which  marches  on  them  now  so  fearfully. 
Yet  this  stout  ship  is  manned  by  men  of  steel, 
And  there  are  cool,  courageous  hearts  aboard; 
What  though  the  thunder  break  with  mighty  peal 
And  livid  lightning  flash  its  trenchant  sword! 
There  shall  be  ballast  still  to  right  the  keel, 
And  pious  lips  to  pray  unto  their  Lord. 


TO  WAR 

O  DEMON  War!  thou  hast  been  absent  long. 

In  dusty  caverns  thou  dost  bide  thy  time, 

Girding  thy  strength  in  that  Plutonian  clime 

For  fiendish  coming  forth  with  savage  song. 

Thy  red  hand  is  but  hid.   It  waxes  strong, 

While  Peace,  the  minstrel  maid  with  voice  sublime, 

Drowns  out  thy  mutterings  with  silver  chime, 

Enchanting  all  her  worship-blinded  throng. 

She  yet  shall  sing  for  many  a  dulcet  day 

In  honied  notes  her  soft,  inspiring  bars, 

But  when  thou  comest,  War,  a  wild  dismay 

Shall  seize  her  heart  at  sight  of  thy  old  scars; 

And  she  will  flee,  her  hair  in  disarray, 

While  thy  fierce  thunder  mounts  unto  the  stars. 


WE  HAVE  DREAMED  TOO  MUCH  OF  GOLD 

WE  have  followed  the  monster  Mammon  on  the  broad 

way  far  too  long, 
With  lilt  and  gilt  we  have  worshiped  him  with  many 

a  ribald  song, 
We  have  drunk  of  wine  too  deeply  and  dreamed  too 

much  of  gold, 
Till  our  dearest  idols  are  broken  and  our  heroes  are 

ages  old; 
Sheer  to  the  shrine  of  our  temples  the  money-changers 

call, 
The  glitter  of  gold  hath  driven  us  mad,  and  still  made 

us  cowards  all; 
Yet  still  in  American  meadows  the  daisy  nods  and 

blows, 
And  still  in  the  lovelit  gardens  blossoms  the  summer 

rose. 

We  are  out  on  the  brazen  highway  where  the  Roman 

rabble  went, 
Pursuing  a  phantom  happiness  with  no  thought  to 

repent; 
It  is  hats  off  to  the  captain,  whose  treasuries  hold  the 

most, 

8 


WE  HAVE  DREAMED  TOO  MUCH  OF  GOLD 

Though  he  has  ground  the  glint  of  them  out  of  a  human 

host; 
We  have  crowned  the  man  of  Mammon  with  a  golden 

aureole, 
But  have  made  no  move  or  mention  to  ask  if  he  hath 

a  soul; 
The  people  are  grim  applauders  at  the  nation's  gilded 

show, 
While  out  in  the  lovelit  gardens  the  lonely  roses  blow. 


ACROSS  THE  CITY 

I  STOOD  upon  a  dizzy  roof  which  towered 
Above  the  serried  city's  chimneyed  miles. 
The  canyons  of  the  streets,  like  narrow  aisles, 
Stretched  far  away  to  where  the  cloud  mists  lowered; 
I,  gazing,  felt  the  nerve  fright  of  a  coward, 
So  small  was  I,  so  great  the  plain  of  tiles 
Which  sheltered  all  those  steel-supported  piles; 
My  senses  shook,  with  vastness  overpowered. 
But  not  alone  from  danger  of  the  height, 
Nor  from  that  scene's  immense,  gray  mystery 
Did  tremblings  come.   There  swam  before  my  sight 
The  roofs  of  Babylon  which  used  to  be 
As  stanch  as  these.   Yet  now  the  morning  light 
Reveals  but  mounds  of  vanished  majesty. 


10 


FLOWER  DAY 

ON  Flower  Day  the  gardens  came 
In  close,  baked  city  streets  to  bloom, 
Dark  alleys  drank  the  sweet  perfume; 
The  roses  reddened  many  a  room  — 
On  Flower  Day. 

Unnumbered  children  without  name 
Were  cheered  and  charmed  by  fragrant  flowers 
Fresh  from  the  unknown  garden  bowers  — 
Ay!  there  was  balm  for  countless  hours  — 
On  Flower  Day. 

Love's  spark  was  fanned  into  a  flame, 
The  city  paused  its  sordid  greed, 
The  latent  God  in  man  gave  heed 
Unto  a  poor  child's  soulful  need  — 
On  Flower  Day. 


11 


A  WRECKED  LOCOMOTIVE 

IT  lies  upon  the  rocks,  a  shattered  thing, 

Here  where  the  valley  flood  ripped  up  the  rails, 

No  more  the  hound  that  on  these  modern  trails 

Leaped  at  the  whipping  steam's  fire-furied  sting, 

And  scented  toward  the  cities  as  on  wing; 

Unwarned,  unchecked,  with  weird,  half-human  wails, 

As  some  cliff-driven  beast  of  ancient  tales, 

It  plunged  to  ruin  past  all  reckoning: 

And  on  the  heap,  his  face  unfrowned  by  fear, 

Calm  as  a  man  of  marble  and  as  white, 

Gripping  the  throttle,  lies  the  engineer 

Who  fell  to  sleep  on  his  last,  frantic  flight; 

While  overhead  the  solemn  stars  appear 

And  this  thin  gloaming  thickens  into  night. 


12 


LANDING  AT  DAWN 

I  SAW  the  soundless  city,  couched  in  charm, 
Before  the  booming  traffic  was  begun, 
It  lay  at  dawn  as  peaceful  as  a  nun 
Asleep  beside  the  sea's  gigantic  arm. 
It  seemed  a  silver  haven  shorn  of  harm, 
Wherein  humanity,  with  battlings  done, 
At  last  the  ages'  dream-lit  peace  had  won, 
Never  to  wake  at  Mammon's  mad  alarm; 
But  as  the  ship  sped  nearer  to  the  shore, 
I  saw  the  smoke  above  the  chimneyed  plains; 
The  sun-kissed  walls  a  sterner  visage  wore, 
I  heard  the  traffic  tramp  the  canyon  lanes, 
And  landing  there  amid  the  rising  roar, 
I  knew  Prometheus  still  tugged  at  his  chains. 


13 


MAN  MUST  DO  MORE  FOR  MAN 

IT  has  taken  the  ages  to  teach  us, 
Long  struggles  through  error  and  pain, 
Too  slow  was  the  truth  to  reach  us, 
Though  the  truth  was  always  plain; 
But  we  know  at  this  latest  hour, 
As  the  wisdom  of  God's  great  plan, 
If  the  race  shall  grow  into  power, 
Man  must  do  more  for  man. 

'T  is  the  centuries'  one  conclusion, 
The  gift  of  the  blood-drenched  years, 
The  dawn  from  the  night's  confusion, 
The  hope  that  is  forged  from  fears; 
And  the  words  burn  now  like  fire 
(Though  obscured  when  the  world  began), 
If  we  as  a  race  rise  higher, 
Man  must  do  more  for  man. 

Dead  peoples  knew  of  His  sayings 
And  they  kept  the  truth  in  their  creeds, 
They  voiced  the  truth  in  their  prayings, 
But  they  lived  it  not  in  their  deeds; 
14 


MAN   MUST  DO  MORE   FOR   MAN 

Self-love  and  the  self's  own  pleasure 
Was  the  rule  and  the  law  with  men, 
Now  the  heart  has  a  broader  measure 
And  the  race  has  a  larger  ken. 

We  have  come  to  the  clear  decision 
Through  the  travail  of  the  soul, 
But  at  last  we  have  seen  the  vision  — 
Humanity  moves  as  a  whole; 
And  we  know  at  this  raptured  hour 
That  the  welfare  of  all  is  His  plan, 
And  the  race  shall  come  into  power 
When  man  does  more  for  man. 


15 


THE  CITY 

MUCH  have  we  cursed  the  city.   It  has  been 

Reviled  of  old  as  Mammon's  very  own, 

A  heartless  labyrinth  of  steel  and  stone 

Devoid  of  pity,  peace  and  love;  wherein 

The  gilded  gamblers  cast  the  dice  of  sin, 

And  with  their  wanton  wages  build  a  throne 

To  Moloch  Greed,  deaf  to  the  undertone 

Of  ominous  woe  which  wails  beneath  the  din. 

Yet  have  we  this  dark  picture  overpainted, 

Remembering  not  that  Faith  and  Charity 

Walk  even  in  the  marts  with  vices  tainted, 

And  cities  shelter  Him  of  Galilee, 

While  there  are  kindly  men  whose  souls  are  sainted 

By  secret  acts  of  broad  humanity. 


16 


TO  LABOR 

O  YE  who  toil  at  forges ! 

Or  in  the  factories  stand, 
Ye  are  the  blood  and  muscle 

Of  every  mighty  land. 

Upon  your  vast  endeavor 

The  thrones  of  greatness  rest, 

'T  is  only  by  your  struggles 
A  nation's  name  is  blest. 

What  though  your  lives  be  troubled, 

And  yours  laborious  days, 
The  glory  of  a  people 

Shall  be  your  meed  of  praise. 

Out  of  the  endless  working, 

Though  shrouded  seems  the  goal, 

Shall  come  the  angel  Progress, 
Advancement  of  the  Whole. 

O  ye  who  toil  at  forges 

Whose  thunder  drowns  your  moan, 
Ye  yet  shall  reap  the  harvest 

Which  rightly  is  your  own. 
17 


SOUNDS  OF  THE  CITY 

FROM  where  I  sit  the  city's  ceaseless  roar 
Surges  in  tides  around  my  casement  sash, 
The  sea  of  sound  heaves  now  a  sudden  crash 
And  now  a  tremble  from  a  distant  shore; 
Soft  rumbles  sweep  my  window-railing  o'er, 
The  muffled  booms  come  in  with  softened  plash, 
The  whistles  pierce  the  panes  as  though  a  flash 
Of  lightning  had  cut  through  my  dwelling's  core. 
Strange  messages  this  restless  ocean  bears; 
I  catch  the  blows  of  labor,  —  whir  of  wheels, 
The  sob  of  grief,  the  ceaseless  sigh  of  cares, 
The  shouts  of  far  applause,  the  mighty  peals 
Of  human  battle  on  the  thoroughfares, 
Whose  every  hour  a  tragedy  reveals. 


18 


THE  ANSWER  OF  BOSTON 

BOSTON!  with  all  thy  glory,  thy  history  high  with 

praise, 
What  shall  ye  write  for  record  on  the  scroll  of  the  later 

days? 
The  floods  of  time  flow  swiftly,  and  the  nation's  name 

is  vast, 
Shall  ye  leap  to  mighty  life  again  or  lapse  to  a  pride 

of  past? 
Boston!  whose  heart  was  fearless,  whose  sons  were 

sturdy  and  strong, 

Shall  the  nation  say  thou  once  wert  great,  but  his 
tory's  years  are  long? 
From  the  dream  of  the  ancient  greatness  to  the  dreams 

of  things  that  be, 
Hast  thou  no  vision,  Boston,  to  show  to  thine  own 

country? 

They  lie  who  say  that  the  spirit  of  thy  mighty  men  is 

dead! 
The  altar  flames  have  smouldered,  but  the  fire  hath 

never  fled; 
Behold !  the  brands  are  burning  —  the  temple  wakes 

with  life, 

And  the  incense  of  old  victories  upon  the  air  is  rife; 

19 


THE   ANSWER  OF  BOSTON 

Out  of  the  ancient  greatness  comes  the  dream  of  things 
that  are, 

And  high  in  the  eastern  heavens  reappears  the  ancient 
star; 

The  nation  hath  called  for  visions,  and  thou  in  thy 
soul-wrung  tears, 

Hath  pictured  the  Greater  Boston  through  the  fear 
less,  future  years. 


20 


SONG  OF  THE  SUPERMAN 

I  AM  the  one  whose  blood  has  run  through  all  the 

races'  veins, 
My  soul  has  slept,  my  strength  has  swept  on  every 

nation's  plains, 

No  man  am  I  born  here  to  die;  with  Man  I  did  not  fall; 
I  am  the  Face  which  leads  the  Race,  I  am  the  soul  of 

All. 

In  every  age  with  fiery  rage  I  Ve  flung  the  battle  sign, 
The  ancient  foe  —  too  well  they  know  that  victory 

is  mine. 
The  foes  of  men  must  fight  again  and  ever  more  with 

me, 
Till  stars  shall  fade  and  life  abrade,  and  salt  shall  leave 

the  sea. 

I  gave  the  word  which  prophets  heard  that  conquered 
space  and  time, 

I  am  the  Will  which  yet  shall  fill  the  world  with  Free 
dom's  chime; 

I  am  the  dreams,  the  sentient  gleams  that  point  the 
perfect  goal, 

From  senseless  clod  I  rise  to  God,  I  am  the  Races' 
Soul. 

21 


MIRACLES 

THE  miracles  are  past,  you  say. 

Look  in  the  eastern  sky; 
Old  Daedalus  soars  there  to-day 

With  his  white  wings  on  high, 

And  Icarus  follows  after  him 

On  toward  the  golden  sun. 
Swift  on  aerial  tides  they  swim, 

Faster  than  horses  run. 

They  left  the  labyrinth  below 

Their  freedom  to  regain; 
Now  past  the  mountain  peaks  they  go, 

And  down  the  clouded  lane. 

If  this  was  counted  wonderful 

In  Crete,  for  men  to  fly, 
We,  then,  should  call  it  miracle 

When  white-winged  ships  go  by. 


ON  THE  NIGHT  EXPRESS 

CLICK-CLACK,  click-clack,  shouts  the  trampled  track 

To  the  warm  wheel's  creak  and  cry, 
We  skim  on  the  strand  of  fairy-land 

As  the  twinkling  towns  go  by; 
From  these  soft  seats  the  star-eyed  streets 

Of  the  cities  shrink  and  flee, 
The  night-trod  trails  are  the  shining  rails 

And  the  cities  their  scenery. 

With  crash  and  roar  down  the  shrouded  shore 

The  steel-stung  noises  fall, 
While  the  tearing  train  through  a  moonless  plain, 

Like  an  arrow  cuts  the  pall ; 
Then  straining  sight  at  the  flying  night 

Only  the  glooms  we  see, 
The  night-trod  trails  are  the  shining  rails 

But  the  cities  their  scenery. 


AN  OCEAN  GREYHOUND 

FREE  from  the  harbor  this  huge  beauty  swings 
With  prow  poked  seaward  to  the  sunrise  lands, 
The  old  world  with  its  commerce-clanging  strands, 
Its  castle-ruined  hills,  its  courts  of  kings, 
Its  marts  yet  steeped  in  lore  of  ancient  things. 
How  swiftly  slips  the  greyhound  from  our  sands ! 
Out  in  that  choppy  sea  how  strong  she  stands 
Defiant  of  old  ocean's  thunderings! 
She  rides  her  thousand  leagues  of  pounding  brine 
As  trim  as  Cossack  rides  a  lawless  steed. 
Behold!  in  her  doth  Science  give  the  sign 
Of  perfect  mastery,  safety,  comfort,  speed, 
And  she  in  bridging  Neptune's  dread  confine 
Links  old  to  new  and  meets  the  nations'  need. 


TOY  DAY 

NOT  dreams,  not  fairy  tales,  but  deeds  — 
These  are  the  things  the  sad  world  needs, 
The  deeds  whose  kindness  stirs  the  mart 
And  binds  the  wounds  of  the  city's  heart, 
The  deeds  whose  mighty  virtue  can 
Bring  us  together,  —  man  to  man,  — 
Wipe  out  old  wrongs,  uplift  all  men, 
And  bring  Christ's  kingdom  back  again. 

I  hold  that  such  were  done  to-day 

Here  in  the  city's  clanging  way, 

By  those  who  went  from  door  to  door 

Where  dwell  the  children  of  the  poor, 

And  left  with  them  their  Christmas  toys 

For  all  those  countless  girls  and  boys 

Whose  lives  are  pitiful  because 

They  have  no  bounteous  Santa  Glaus. 

Oh !  age  by  age  we  more  slowly  climb 
The  hill-stairs  of  the  better  time 
For,  year  by  year  our  greed  grows  less  — 
Man  really  hates  his  selfishness, 
Though  struggling  oft  in  vain,  he  wins 
A  conquest  sometimes  over  sins, 
And  on  those  days  the  visions  rise 
Of  what  shall  be  the  Paradise. 
25 


A  WESTERN  WASTE 

OLD  rails  like  twin  steel  ribbons  stretch  away 
O'er  endless  acres  seldom  kissed  by  rain. 
This  is  the  wide  un watered  waste  of  plain, 
Our  arid  pastures  spread  with  sterile  clay; 
Here  bounteous  nature  feared  to  flaunt  display 
Knowing  her  rich  reserves  were  called  in  vain, 
And  man  within  his  now-luxurious  train 
Sees  cheerless  distances  and  scorns  to  stay: 
Thus  lies  it  lonely,  lost  to  fruit  and  flower, 
To  labor's  wand  and  capital's  vast  dream; 
And  it  shall  still  be  barren  to  that  hour 
When  we  shall  rise  resolving  to  redeem; 
Then  will  it  bloom  in  magic  grace  and  power 
Fair  as  a  farm  by  some  lowan  stream. 


LOVE'S  WORD 

HE  came  unto  a  throbbing  mart 

And  saw  a  soul  in  need; 
His  reason  argued  with  his  heart, 

"Turn  not  this  call  to  heed." 

But  ere  he  passed  his  pulsing  way, 
Love  whispered  soft  this  word  — 

'Turn  thou  about"  —  and  on  that  day 
A  city's  heart  was  stirred. 


THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

IRON  is  in  his  blood.   He  lives  to  fight, 

To  yield  not,  fear  not,  nor  retreat; 

Give  him  the  giant  odds  that  mean  defeat  — 
He  still  fights  on !   Whatever  he  deems  right 
He  guards  with  the  reserve-corps  of  his  might; 

Swiftly  he  strikes.  His  triumphs  are  complete; 

He  has  no  flag  of  truce.   The  foe  must  meet 
Him  face  to  face,  or  safety  find  in  flight. 

More  men  like  him  we  need !  Who  dare  to  face 
The  odds  he  craves,  and  give  their  very  blood 

For  sake  of  principle.   The  groping  race 

Through  such  as  he  finds  better  brotherhood; 

There  lives  no  foe  that  ever  can  erase 
The  record  of  his  battles  for  the  good. 


THE  FINAL  WAR 

OH,  East  and  West  shall  know  not  rest  and  the  seas 

shall  run  blood-red, 
When  the  fierce  war-dogs  of  the  world  break  loose  from 

the  thrall  of  their  resting  bed, 
There's  a  sign  in  the  North  and  a  sign  in  the  South 

that  blood  shall  flow  no  more, 
But  the  signs  of  the  stars  say,  too,  that  Mars  must  have 

his  glut  of  war. 

O  God!  what  a  hell  the  signs  foretell  of  the  final  clash 

of  the  Powers, 
When  the  great  steel  ships  which  their  sons  have  built 

shall  go  to  their  testing  hours; 
Then  blood  in  the  North  and  blood  in  the  South  and 

blood  in  the  West  shall  flow, 
And  the  old  white  priest  of  the  hoary  East  shall  reap 

blood  as  his  woe. 

We  have  set  our  seal  on  the  might  of  steel,  and  the  steel 

some  test  must  find, 
Ere  we  cast  away  the  grim  old  dream  and  know  that 

our  eyes  were  blind, 
29 


THE   FINAL   WAR 

There  is  but  one  door  that  leads  to  the  light  and  Mars 

knows  that  right  well, 
He  will  give  the  word  when  his  wrath  is  stirred  which 

will  loose  his  hounds  of  hell. 

Then  East  and  West  shall  know  not  rest,  and  the  flags 
shall  dip  in  the  red, 

And  the  seven  seas  shall  open  wide  to  engulf  the  na 
tions'  dead, 

And  the  stars  shall  smoke  and  the  sun  grow  dark  till 
the  mighty  carnage  cease, 

Then  over  the  world  shall  be  unfurled  the  one  white 
flag  of  Peace. 


30 


AT  A  SEACOAST  TAVERN 

WE  sat  at  drinking  with  our  merry  host 
And  saw  them  pass,  the  mighty  ships  of  Mars, 
In  single  line,  flying  the  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Sweeping  to  southward  off  the  Gloucester  coast; 
Our  prattle  ceased;  an  old  man  called  a  toast, 

'Pledge  Uncle  Sam,  his  guns,  his  gallant  tars!" 
We  drank  and  sat  to  silence  and  cigars, 
While  our  gray  gentleman  made  bold  a  boast: 

'  Earth's  greatest  clash  of  arms  is  yet  to  be, 
Some  day  the  steel  will  ring  around  the  world; 
Then  these  vast  forts  of  force,  with  flags  unfurled, 
Like  flame-tongued  demons  shall  patrol  the  sea, 
And  all  their  stores  of  hot  rage  shall  be  hurled 
For  honor's  sake,  for  truth  and  liberty." 


31 


ADMIRAL  EVANS 

THE  wide  seas  search  for  him.   But  vain  their  quest 
Through  anxious  hours  the  great  steel  ships  among; 
They  find  him  not.   The  thousand  tides  that  sung 
The  glories  of  his  war-steeds  prancing  west 
Have  hushed  their  trumpets.  Him  they  loved  the  best. 
Their  lord  unvanquished,  still  gay-voiced  and  young, 
Though  Pain,  his  foe  implacable,  has  flung 
Him  helpless  to  the  shore  and  robbed  his  rest. 

His  kingdom,  then,  is  lost?   Because  no  more 

His  glance  shall  sweep  the  sunburst  leagues  of  seas, 

What  folly  thus  to  speak  of  glory  gone ! 

Strife  is  his  kingdom  —  that  sea  has  no  shore  — 

The  gods  gave  not  this  man  the  path  of  ease, 

They  fashioned  him  to  fight  —  still  fights  he  on  I 


THE  UNITED  STATES  SUPREME  COURT 

THEY  stand  like  sentries  at  a  country's  gates, 

Guarding  the  mighty  realm  lest  in  should  come 

The  alien  things  to  poison  and  benumb 

The  sovereign  heart.   Where  this  tribunal  waits 

There  dwells  the  ancient  power  of  the  fates 

Which  sways  our  destinies.   Not  rolling  drum 

Or  cannonade  their  means,  —  all  such  is  dumb 

Before  these  peaceful  arbiters  of  states. 

They  wield  one  battle-blade,  —  the  country's  law; 

And  each  man  is  an  intellectual  king, 

Whose  work  shall  last  till  Time's  clear  eyes  are  dim: 

It  is  but  meet  we  look  on  them  with  awe, 

Who  can  by  weight  of  words  such  forces  swing, 

While  men  have  no  appeal  except  to  Him. 


33 


JAMES  BARR  AMES 

TWIN  soul  of  Coke!  A  peerless  master,  he 
Sent  forth  to  bench  and  bar  enlightened  men 
Whose  work  was  his  reward,  for  in  his  ken 
His  own  star  had  no  lustre,  could  he  see 
Its  radiance  in  others.   This  one  plea 
He  ever  voiced  by  spoken  word  or  pen,  — 
That  only  learning  can  redeem  again 
For  modern  law  its  place  of  majesty. 
He  was  the  patient  Prince  whose  gracious  ways 
Impulsively  made  each  one  call  him  friend; 
The  Nation  shall  not  pass  him  by;  in  days 
Now  far  remote,  when  other  men  shall  bend 
O'er  legal  tasks,  their  lips  shall  break  in  praise 
Of  him  whose  work  endureth  to  the  end. 


34 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE 

O  COUNTRY  mine!  thy  golden  age  shall  be 
Fulfillment  of  the  old,  tremendous  needs; 
Deep  in  thy  soil  already  spring  the  seeds 
Of  glory,  wisdom,  truth,  and  liberty, 
And  brotherhood  —  the  vision  of  the  free  — 
All,  all  of  these  shall  bear  their  mighty  deeds: 
The  Ancient  Nine  shall  dance  upon  thy  meads, 
The  pipes  of  Pan  fall  fondly  o'er  the  lea, 
And  on  thy  hills  white  parthenons  shall  rise 
In  wealth  of  beauty  passing  that  of  Greece; 
Thy  temple  towns  shall  far  out-lustre  Rome, 
While  Europe  shall  go  mad  with  mute  surprise 
That  men  should  build  a  state  in  perfect  peace 
And  it  should  be  humanity's  best  home. 


35 


LOVE  AND  SENTIMENT 


PETITION 

O  LOVE  !  I  watch  for  thee 
Through  all  the  dreary  days, 

As  one  who,  lost  at  sea, 

Looks  for  the  sail  that  saves. 

O  Love !   I  long  for  thee 

Through  all  the  weary  nights, 

As  one  who  knows  that  dawn 
Will  bring  him  dear  delights. 

0  Love !   I  dream  of  thee, 

God  knows  the  dreams  I  dare, 
Bring  thou  thy  ecstasy, 
If  not  —  thy  white  despair. 

But  come,  dear  Love,  I  pray, 
Hear  thou  my  spirit's  cry : 

1  could  not  bear  to  live 

If  love  should  pass  me  by. 


39 


DEATHLESS  LOVE 

OUT  of  life,  out  of  death,  there  can  never 

Come  love  that  is  greater  than  mine, 
For  the  heart  in  its  ceaseless  endeavor 

Finds  no  inspiration  like  thine; 
From  the  fields  of  thy  love  I  am  gleaning 

A  harvest  that  grows  not  of  earth, 
Thy  love  is  so  fraught  with  deep  meaning 

Even  gods  cannot  measure  its  worth. 

Men  live,  love  and  die,  but  their  yearning 

Is  as  bubbles  that  burst  on  the  sea, 
But  the  love  of  my  heart  that  is  burning, 

Through  the  unmeasured  ages  shall  be; 
Other  loves  are  the  longings  diurnal, 

They  pass  with  the  passing  of  breath, 
My  love  is  the  passion  eternal, 

It  will  bloom  in  the  meadows  of  death. 


40 


HIS  VICTORY 

HE  deemed  it  but  a  passing  thought 
That  brought  her  pleading  face  to  him, 

When,  wrestling  all  the  night,  he  sought 
To  overthrow  the  Tempter  grim. 

Nor,  when  he  conquered,  did  he  dream 

That,  o'er  the  night-steeped  ocean's  length, 

She  knew,  —  and  with  her  love  supreme 

She  prayed  that  God  might  give  him  strength. 


41 


IF  LIFE  WERE  PASSING 

IF  life  were  passing  with  the  hour, 

And  that  hour  lone  and  dark, 
But  thou  whose  face  is  like  a  flower 

Were  bending  o'er  my  bed  of  pain, 

I'd  not  complain, 
If  life  were  passing  with  the  hour. 

If  life  were  passing  with  the  hour, 

And  that  hour  ebbing  fast, 
But  thou,  with  roses  from  the  bower 

Should'st  come,  dun-eyed  and  tarry  late, 

I  'd  welcome  fate, 
If  life  were  passing  with  the  hour. 


THE  WIND  OF  NOVEMBER 

THE  wind  of  November  is  blowing 

Over  meadows  of  russet  and  gray, 
And  it  little  cares  where  it  is  going 

Through  the  regions  of  night  or  of  day; 
O  'er  the  river  and  forest  it  tumbles, 

With  the  moan  of  a  person  who  grieves, 
It  sweeps  up  the  farm  and  it  rumbles 

With  a  menace  around  the  eaves. 

The  wind  of  November  is  yearning 

For  a  soul  to  go  with  it  and  roam; 
It  spies  the  bright  hearth-fire  burning 

In  the  peaceful  retreat  of  my  home, 
And  it  sees  the  bright  eyes  of  my  zealous 

Young  wife,  as  she  gives  me  a  kiss  — 
The  wind  of  November  is  jealous 

Of  me  and  my  bride  and  our  bliss. 


TO  AN  ABSENT  FRIEND 

THE  day  thy  happy  path  crossed  mine  it  seemed 

As  though  I  came  from  out  a  desert  land, 

Leaving  behind  the  dusty  miles  of  sand, 

And  stood  me  where  a  green  oasis  gleamed 

With    sparkling    springs :  —  I    thought    that    I    had 

dreamed 

Of  all  the  lengths  of  desert  I  had  spanned, 
So  magic  was  the  clasp  of  thy  dear  hand; 
So  new  the  thoughts  that  in  my  vision  teemed. 
And  now  from  thee  in  thy  fair  lands  afar 
Still  comes  the  joy  which  first  thou  brought  to  me, 
As  light  that  travels  from  an  unseen  star, 
Or  tides  that  surge  across  a  dreary  sea; 
The  great  gulfs  which  divide  us  are  no  bar  — 
Thou  inspiration  art  eternally. 


44 


TO  A  FRIEND 

I  SOMETIMES  wonder  if  the  hand  of  Fate 

Caused  you  to  come  my  way  with  eager  eyes, 

Who  knows?  —  and  it  is  folly  to  debate  — 

Did  I  your  presence  there  through  long  hours  wait? 

I  only  know  you  came,  and  then  the  skies 

Took  on  the  crimson  tints  of  Paradise, 

And  when,  reluctant,  from  your  side  I  turned, 

I  found  new  hope,  new  life  within  me  rise 

And  all  my  dead  past's  soul  awoke  and  burned 

To  pass  up  through  your  heart's  fair  palace  gate ! 

Forgive  me,  dear,  till  now  I  never  knew 
The  heights  and  depths  of  that  which  we  call  time, 
But  thou  hast  taught  my  soul  that  broader  view 
Which  sweeps  the  world  —  but  not  the  heart  of  you, 
And  these  my  fears  —  that  only  in  the  clime 
Of  other  realms  where  we  shall  know  the  chime 
Of  these  strange  discords  in  our  hearts  of  clay, 
Shall  I  with  you,  Beloved,  find  perfect  rhyme ! 
Till  then,  here  the  kingdom  of  the  day 
I  only  wish  to  live  and  learn  of  you ! 


45 


THE  DAWN  OF  EVENING 

THE  royal  sun  has  gone  his  gaudy  way 
Companionless,  across  the  sapphire  skies, 
He  sinks  to  rest  with  blood-shot  fevered  eyes, 
While  tyrant  night,  triumphant  over  day, 
Yields  soft  submission  to  Diana's  sway. 
Now,  silver-robed,  the  Goddess  sleeping  lies 
And  soothes  the  world  with  dreams  of  Paradise, 
Sweet  fantasies  the  sun  would  drive  away. 

I  think,  to-night,  of  songs  that  she  would  sing 
In  dream  years  gone,  within  her  garden  fair. 
Ah,  sweet  the  voice  that  joys  of  worlds  could  bring 
To  golden  hours  that  knew  not  dross  of  care, 
When  years  were  few  and  love  was  crowned  king; 
For  youth  knows  not  how  long  is  love's  despair. 


THE  COMING 

THE  mansion  of  my  heart,  my  Love, 

Through  empty,  idle  years, 
Stood  in  the  hills  of  Loneliness 

Beside  the  stream  of  Tears; 
There  were  no  sounds  of  minstrelsy 

To  wake  its  silent  walls, 
There  was  no  feasting  at  its  boards, 

No  laughter  shook  its  halls. 

I  thought  when  you  should  come,  my  Love, 

That  I,  who  waited  long, 
Should  open  wide  the  mansion  gates 

And  greet  you  with  a  song; 
I  thought  I  'd  scatter  garlands  bright 

Before  you  as  you  came, 
While  all  the  palace  swift  should  sound 

The  accents  of  your  name. 

But  it  has  not  been  so,  my  Love, 

For  scarce  I  was  aware, 
A  glory  fell  upon  the  place, 

Lo!  you  had  entered  there; 
The  hills  were  changed  to  Cheerfulness, 

To  Joy  the  stream  of  Tears, 
And  oh,  the  mystic  music  of 

The  happy,  happy  years ! 
47 


PETITION 

GOD  of  the  silence!  must  my  prayer  be  vain 

For  her  whose  lips  will  laugh  no  more  with  spring? 

Hast  thou  no  boon  except  this  peaceless  pain 
In  whose  dull  presence  heart  nor  soul  can  sing? 

Ah !  I  had  dreamed  of  good  in  every  thing  — 
If  there  be  good  in  death  it  is  not  plain  — 

God  of  the  silence !  must  my  prayer  be  vain 

For  her  whose  lips  will  laugh  no  more  with  spring? 

There  is  deep  meaning  in  the  wind  and  rain, 
I  can  see  light  where  war's  black  cannons  ring  — 

But  when  her  harmless  little  life  is  slain, 
It  is  so  hard  to  find  grace  in  the  sting; 

God  of  the  silence !  must  my  prayer  be  vain 
For  her  whose  lips  will  laugh  no  more  with  spring? 


48 


SING  A  SONG 

I  AM  ill,  not  in  body,  but  spirit, 

Wilt  thou,  Love,  sing  a  soft  melody? 
For  my  soul  is  all  eager  to  hear  it, 

Sing  a  song  of  the  winds  and  the  sea; 
Sweet  music  was  meant  for  the  night-time 

As  balm  to  the  heart  that  is  weary; 
Sing  a  little  love-song  with  a  light  rhyme 

And  the  world  will  no  longer  be  dreary. 

I  am  ill  with  the  fever  of  living, 

Not  in  body,  but  sick  in  my  soul; 
Sing  a  short,  tender  song  of  thanksgiving 

To  the  Father  who  knoweth  the  goal; 
For  thou  mayest,  Love,  be  a  physician 

Who  will  bring  a  surcease  to  my  sorrow  - 
Sweet  music  is  such  a  magician, 

I  will  be  a  well  man  by  to-morrow. 


TO  AN  OLD  SWEETHEART 

STRANGE,  is  it  not,  that  I  should  pass  to-day 
Amid  the  whirling  crowd  and  softly  hear 
Borne  from  a  stranger's  lips  in  accents  clear 
Thy  magic  name?  —  it  seemed  so  like  a  play  - 
Pausing,  I  turned,  but  on  his  blissful  way 
He  lightly  fled,  as  though  no  human  ear 
By  word  of  his  could  start  with  joy  or  fear  — 
Poor  man !  he  little  dreamed  what  he  did  say. 
Then,  standing  in  that  moving  maze  of  men, 
The  old,  deep  wounds  began  anew  to  bleed, 
I  felt  like  him  who,  grasping  for  his  flute 
To  ease  his  anguish  with  old  tunes  again, 
Found  that  his  hand  but  held  a  rifted  reed 
In  which  the  fond  old  melody  was  mute. 


50 


THE  MEANING 

IT  seemed  to  me  the  night  she  died 
That  all  the  heaven's  silv'ry  light 
Was  swiftly,  suddenly  put  out 
And  all  about  was  darkest  night. 

But  now  I  know  that  moon  and  stars 
With  great  compassion,  in  the  skies 
Had  only  paled  awhile,  until 
Her  spirit  passed  to  Paradise. 


51 


COMPENSATION 

YOUR  heart  broke  when  you  answered  me, 
Your  spirit  wept,  —  for  I  could  see 
The  tear-drops  tremble  to  the  lawn 
Like  dying  notes  of  mass  at  dawn. 

Now  seven  summers  by  have  fled 
Since  first  you  told  me  love  was  dead, 
And  though  my  love  has  never  died 
My  heart  is  somehow  satisfied. 

For  where  your  tears  of  sorrow  fell 
The  violets  have  made  a  dell, 
And  there,  when  anguish  comes  anew, 
I  steal  away  to  worship  you. 


THE  WATERS  OF  LETHE 

I  WILL  of  the  waters  of  that  stream 
Which  borders  on  the  Elysian  shore; 

Lethe  shall  now  efface  my  dream 
And  love  shall  trouble  me  no  more. 

When  the  young  god  first  ambushed  me 
I  was  not  Wisdom's  wary  child, 

Past  his  air-castles  I  could  not  see, 

And  all  day  long  I  dreamed  and  smiled. 

Now  I  have  traveled  the  rocky  path, 
The  long,  hard  road  he  led  me  through, 

Stamped  on  my  face  is  the  pallor  of  wrath, 
And  the  bitterness  I  learned  from  you. 

Therefore,  I  drink  of  the  fabled  stream, 
The  waters  of  sweet  forgetfulness; 

Lethe  shall  wipe  out  the  old  dream 
And  calm  forever  my  deep  distress. 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 

FORGET-ME-NOTS  you  gave  me, 

Forget-me-nots  of  blue, 
To  keep  me  from  forgetting 

The  loveliness  of  you. 

As  if  I  needed  tokens 

To  keep  your  spirit  near, 
As  if  I  could  forget  you 

In  life  or  death,  my  dear. 

The  blossoms  frail  have  faded, 
They  perished  like  a  song, 

But  thoughts  of  you,  my  sweetheart, 
Live  on,  undying,  strong. 

Your  image  haunts  me  always, 

Though  we  are  far  apart, 
Your  purity,  forever, 

Is  locked  within  my  heart. 

Forget-me-nots  you  gave  me, 
But  with  them  something  more, 

Your  soul,  sweetheart,  so  stainless, 
A  silent  monitor. 
54 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 

The  fragrance  of  your  spirit 

Has  stolen  into  mine, 
And  grows  with  years  advancing 

Like  aging,  priceless  wine. 

And  yet  you  gave  me  flowers, 
Forget-me-nots  of  blue, 

To  keep  me  from  forgetting 
The  loveliness  of  you. 


55 


THE  LOST  LOVE 

SIMPLE  and  sweet  as  a  child 

Was  she  of  the  clear,  blue  eyes, 
Her  spirit  as  sunny  and  mild 

As  June  with  her  mellowest  skies; 
Fragile  and  frail  was  her  form, 

Yet,  oh,  what  a  heart  was  hers! 
Was  ever  affection  so  warm? 

The  thought  of  it  —  how  it  stirs! 

The  angels  are  not  more  fair 

In  Heaven  than  she  had  been 
Here  in  the  haven  of  care, 

Unstained  by  the  soil  of  sin; 
And,  oh,  what  a  love  she  knew ! 

Whose  spirit  had  been  so  mild, 
She  with  eyes  of  blue, 

Simple  and  sweet  as  a  child. 


56 


THE  DREAM  GIRL 

WITH  footfall  soft  as  angel's 
She  steps  across  the  room, 

Drawing  her  chair  beside  me 
Here,  in  the  twilight  gloom. 

The  rose  within  my  fingers 

I  place  upon  her  hair, 
Praying  that  God  may  banish 

The  cup  of  our  despair. 

She  smiles  at  me  in  sadness, 

I  smile  at  her  in  tears, 
We  speak  no  words,  nor  have  we 

Spoken  in  all  these  years. 

At  length  the  jealous  darkness 

Spirits  away  her  form, 
But  where  this  night  I  kissed  her, 

Ah !  still  the  air  is  warm. 


57 


WHERE  SHE  HAS  GONE 

WHERE  she  has  gone  the  summer  goes, 
The  white  clouds  follow  after, 

She  ever  dwells  with  bird  and  rose 
In  some  far  land  of  laughter. 

Where  she  abides  the  summer  stays, 
The  June  sun  shineth  ever, 

There  are  no  nights  to  break  the  days, 
For  she  is  in  forever. 

How  do  I  know  the  roses  stir 

Where  she  went,  —  a  late-comer? 

Because  I  know  the  sight  of  her 
Was  always  sight  of  summer. 

In  what  strange  place  she  now  may  be 
June's  glories  there  must  tarry, 

For  even  into  eternity 

She  would  the  summer  carry. 


58 


A  SONNET  TO  YOU! 

ADOWN  the  sapphire  race-course  of  the  skies 
Apollo,  now,  has  whipped  his  steeds  of  fire, 
And  in  the  court  of  Night  has  sought  his  lyre 
To  sing  his  songs  of  deathless  human  ties; 
Then  all  the  Gods  are  wakened  with  surprise 
To  learn  of  love  which  equals  their  desire  — 
A  love  through  which  men's  souls  are  lifted  higher, 
So  high  —  they  reach  the  gates  of  Paradise :  — 

And  list'ning  here  amid  the  even  calm, 
I  hear  thy  name  rise  on  the  flights  of  song 
Till  stars  re-echo  it  in  heaven's  dome: 
They  tell  me,  dear,  thy  life  is  like  a  psalm 
Wherein  the  chords  of  love  are  struck  so  strong 
That  thy  great  heart  must  ever  be  my  home. 


59 


RECOGNITION 

IN  some  forgotten  grove  of  France 

I  know  we  met  as  lovers,  long  ago, 

And  where  the  sunshafts  with  the  flowers  dance 

We  lived  our  little  span  of  love's  romance. 

This  is  not  fancy,  dear,  were  this  not  so, 

How  could  we  each  upon  this  moment  know 

Love's  heart  so  well?  How  could  we  understand? 

When  first  I  saw  you  in  the  twilight's  glow, 

I  also  saw  that  dim,  forgotten  land, 

And  then  I  knew  we  had  not  met  by  chance. 

For  in  your  eyes  the  harebells  found  their  shine, 
The  mellow  sunshine,  dreaming  down  the  leas, 
Is  prisoned  in  your  face;  the  slender  vine 
Which  once  you  knew  so  well,  has  left  its  wine, 
A  boon  to  your  rare  spirit;  while  the  breeze 
That  came  with  perfume  from  the  southern  seas 
Found,  long  ago,  a  home  within  your  hair: 
And  to  your  supple  form  the  steadfast  trees 
Bequeathed  their  stateliness.  —  Ah,  sweetheart  fair, 
It  was  in  France  you  gained  your  grace  divine. 

Perhaps  we  two  shall  live  and  love  awhile, 
And  then  return  where  once  we  loved  before : 
60 


RECOGNITION 

Whatever  fate's  design,  I  know  your  smile 
Will  give  me  strength  to  live  each  weary  mile 
Of  life's  eternal  highway;  I  will  love  the  more, 
Though  stranger  paths  we  walk  beyond  death's  door; 
But  if  our  course  leads  through  a  thousand  spheres 
I  still  will  recognize  and  still  adore 
The  grace  you  gained  in  those  forgotten  years 
When  we  two  loved  in  France  in  guiltless  guile. 


61 


IN  AN  ANCIENT  LAND 

UPON  the  cliff  of  an  ancient  stream, 
A  snow-white  palace  towers  high, 

And  round  it  hanging  gardens  dream 
Under  the  spell  of  a  moonlit  sky. 

From  where  the  waters  sigh  and  sing, 
Kissing  the  marble  as  they  flow, 

The  stairs  which  lead  to  that  old  king 
Far  up  the  fountained  gardens  go. 

Calm  Midnight  with  soft-sandaled  tread 
Her  silent  way  has  come  and  gone, 

And  now  the  pale  stars  overhead 
Watch  for  the  heralds  of  the  dawn. 

Hark!  from  the  still  heights  there  above, 
The  strains  of  heavenly  music  rise, 

'T  is  an  exultant  song  of  love, 
The  honeyed  notes  of  Paradise. 

Lo !  on  the  palace  balcony 

Which  clustered  vine  has  made  its  own, 
Veiled  in  the  moonlight's  mystery 

A  maiden  stands  and  sings  alone. 
62 


IN   AN   ANCIENT   LAND 

Her  fingers  lightly  skim  the  lyre, 
But  the  fierce  longings  of  her  soul 

Leap  into  living  notes  of  fire 
And  over  the  ebon  river  roll. 

Scarce  dies  the  music  from  her  throat 

In  soft,  fine  frenzy  on  the  air, 
When  down  on  the  stream  she  sees  a  boat 

And  hears  a  step  upon  the  stair. 

Up  the  long  flight  with  panting  pace, 
Climbing  the  sculptured,  flowery  hill, 

Her  lover  hurries  to  her  embrace; 
Breathless  she  stands  there,  mute  and  still. 

He  passes  the  ponderous  palace  gates, 
With  secret  keys  he  gains  the  halls, 

Reaches  the  alcove  where  she  waits 
And  at  her  feet  in  worship  falls, 

\Vhile  that  old  king  who  bade  him  come 
On  pain  of  death  his  court  to  pay, 

Sleeps  on,  nor  in  his  slumber  dumb 

Dreams  that  their  love  would  find  a  way. 


CUPID  IN  AMBUSH 

WHEN  I  went  down  the  autumn  lane 

My  heart  was  free  from  fear  and  pain, 

I  whistled  lightly  as  I  passed 

The  spot  where  pulses  once  ran  fast, 

Nor  thought  me  that  my  head  should  whirl 

Again  at  sight  of  any  girl, 

Since  now  that  no  love  fettered  me 

I  felt  I  should  be  ever  free; 

So  down  the  brush-banked  autumn  lane 

I  laughed  at  former  fears  and  pain. 

When  I  came  out  the  autumn  lane 

I  knew  I  should  not  laugh  again, 

For  in  my  lightsome,  leaf-strewn  path 

Cupid  in  ambush  lay  in  wrath, 

And  scarce  my  heart  could  utter  cry, 

He  pierced  it  through,  and  I  shall  die, 

For  when  one's  heart  is  thus  waylaid 

There  is  no  cure  but  shroud  and  spade  — 

When  I  came  out  the  autumn  lane 

I  knew  I  should  not  laugh  again. 


DISCOVERY 

I  TRAVELED  the  road  of  the  restless 
With  the  siren  wind  for  my  guide, 
Seeking  the  priest  of  the  happy 
And  by  his  great  counsel  to  bide. 

Somewhere  I  must  certainly  find  him, 
(For  the  world  will  reveal  all  things), 
So  I  followed  the  road's  white  windings 
And  I  went  with  the  ship's  white  wings. 

In  the  purple  gardens  of  kingdoms, 
Through  the  violet  nights  of  the  East, 
My  soul  and  the  sad  stars,  searching, 
Sought  in  vain  for  the  precious  priest. 

But  I  came  with  the  diamond  sunrise 
To  the  land  that  my  heart  loves  best, 
And  here  at  my  father's  doorstep 
I  garnered  the  fruit  of  my  quest. 

He  greeted  me  first  in  the  pathway 
That  leads  up  from  the  homesick  sea, 
He  smiled  as  he  gently  led  me 
To  the  innocent  heart  of  thee. 
65 


DISCOVERY 

And  not  until  then  did  I  know  him, 
(So  blind  were  my  eyes  by  the  sun), 
For  the  precious  priest  of  the  happy 
And  the  God  of  love  were  one. 


66 


A  MEMORY 

I  HAVE  dreamed  old  loves  and  lived  old  times 

Here  in  a  moment's  fancy, 
I  have  kissed  mute  lips  and  heard  old  chimes, 

And  I  'm  once  again  with  Nancy. 

I  have  gone  once  more  down  the  flowered  lane 
Where  she  and  the  moon  were  waiting, 

And  I  Ve  whispered  words  of  joy  and  pain, 
The  old  sweet  words  of  mating. 

I  have  felt  the  pulse  of  her  beating  heart, 

The  silk  of  her  temple  tresses, 
The  deep,  dumb  pain  when  we  came  to  part, 

And  the  rapture  of  caresses. 

I  have  borne  the  weight  of  the  withered  years 

Here  in  a  moment's  fancy, 
Have  smiled  old  smiles  and  wept  old  tears, 

For  I  Ve  been  again  with  Nancy. 


67 


TO  MY  SWEETHEART 

THERE  never  was  a  rose-lipt  maiden 
In  the  world  as  sweet  as  you, 
Though  the  lands  of  earth  are  laden 
With  girls  both  pretty  and  true; 
You  are  the  soul  of  all  beauty, 
Of  honor  and  truth  you  are  part, 
Your  love  never  quarrels  with  duty. 
The  glory  of  you  is  your  heart. 

Your  manner  is  so  unassuming 
And  your  soul  so  peerlessly  pure, 
That  your  love  my  life  is  illuming 
And  the  light  of  your  love  shall  endure; 
Through  the  hours  your  spirit  is  near  me, 
Of  my  soul  I  have  counted  it  part. 
Little  girl  of  my  dreams,  do  you  hear  me? 
The  glory  of  you  is  your  heart. 


68 


WHERE  IS  ARCADY? 

"WHERE,  oh,  where  is  Arcady? 
By  the  ever-sounding  sea, 
In  the  valleys  by  the  rills, 
Or  upon  the  silent  hills?" 

"Where,  oh,  where  is  Arcady?" 
Asked  a  pretty  maid  of  me; 

"I  will  leave  my  father's  home 
Over  Arcady  to  roam." 

"Seek  you,  lass,  for  Arcady? 
I  have  solved  its  mystery; 
Cupid  is  the  king  who  reigns 
Throughout  Arcady's  domains. 

"And  to  find  it  you  must  be 
Cupid's  faithful  devotee; 
Is  your  heart  still  unafraid,  — 
Will  you  go  now,  pretty  maid? ' 


69 


TO  ELIZABETH 

You  never  have  said  that  you  loved, 

In  bold,  plain  words,  for  my  hearing, 
You  go  out  neatly  garbed,  trimly  gloved, 

To  your  mount  without  word  of  endearing; 
And  you  canter  good  mile  upon  mile 

By  my  side,  seeming  safe  from  detection, 
But  I  know  by  your  eyes  and  your  smile 

That  I  own  all  your  prisoned  affection. 

You  never  have  said  you  were  mine, 

But  the  day  that  my  horse,  madly  leaping, 
Threw  me  off  into  stubble  and  vine 

I  arose,  dear,  to  find  you  were  weeping. 
And  the  night  that  I  told  you  of  her  — 

She  to  whom  not  a  word  I  had  spoken  — 
Your  eyes  wore  a  mist  and  a  blur, 

And  you  talked  in  a  voice  that  was  broken. 

You  have  always  been  silent  and  shy, 

So  modest,  yet  gracious  and  tender, 
That  you  cannot  believe  time  is  nigh 

For  a  bold  and  outspoken  surrender. 
Yet  that  is  just  what  you  will  give 

Just  as  soon  as  your  soul  shall  discover 
'T  is  for  love  and  love  only  you  live, 

And  I  am  your  long-famished  lover. 
70 


THE  MISTAKE 

'T  WAS  wrong  —  but  can  you  blame  me? 

I  never  craved  her  pardon! 
She  stooped  to  smell  the  roses, 

Red  growing  in  her  garden. 

Impulsive !  That 's  my  nature. 

And  daring!   please  don't  mention! 
When  aught  I  see  worth  having, 

I  overstep  convention. 

Don't  you?  Now  think  a  minute, 
How  youth's  warm  blood  so  rushes! 

You  know  the  great  temptation 
In  watching  crimson  blushes. 

I  stole  upon  her  softly, 

I  caught  her  —  kissed  her  madly ! 
'T  was  all  so  satisfying, 

Excuse  I  gave  her  gladly. 

"For  don't  you  see,  my  darling, 
Of  wrong  this  all  disposes  — 
(With  guilty  heart  I  said  it) 
I  thought  your  cheeks  were  roses!" 
71 


THE  BLUNDER 

THE  girls  in  my  vicinity  — 
Ah,  there  were  quite  a  few  — 

All  used  to  be  so  neighborly 
When  I  was  twenty-two. 

There  always  was  a  pretty  maid 

To  say  that  I  looked  fine, 
And  any  of  them,  unafraid, 

Would  go  with  me  to  dine. 

They  used  to  call  me  "Good  Prince  Hal" 

And  lend  me  kisses  plenty, 
Oh,  every  maiden  was  my  "pal" 

When  I  was  two-and-twenty. 

But  now  things  are  not  just  as  they 

Were  in  those  times  of  yore, 
They  slight  me  terribly  to-day, 

Though  I  'm  but  twenty-four. 

The  reason  any  fool  can  see 

Why  our  lives  lie  asunder  — 
I  married  one  at  twenty-three, 

That  was  the  fatal  blunder. 

72 


UP  TO  ME 

I  STOLE  a  glance  at  Polly, 

Her  chin  was  tilted  high, 

She  scorned  me  then,  —  't  was  folly 

To  dare  to  even  try. 

So,  like  a  goose  I  showed  the  feather, 
And  sat  and  talked  about  the  weather. 

But  now  I  Ve  grown  much  wiser, 
Next  time  I  will  surprise  her,  — 
And  when  her  chin  is  high,  you  see, 
I'll  know  that  it  is  "up  to  me." 


73 


SPIRITUAL  AND  RELIGIOUS 


MUTE  are  the  chords 
And  silent  the  lyres, 
Dead  are  the  Lords, 
Burnt  out  the  fires 
Which  out  of  times 
Ancient  and  hoary 
Gave  us  the  rhymes 
Freighted  with  glory. 

Yet  are  the  soul's 

Secrets  not  spoken, 

Shrouded  its  goals, 

Most  clues  are  broken, 

So  for  the  sake 

Of  the  soul's  keeping 

Poets  shall  wake 

The  Muse  that  is  sleeping. 


77 


AWAKENING 

SOUL!  we  have  been  too  petty,  thou  and  I; 
Like  timid  children  at  a  window-sill 
We  have  not  ventured  out  to  feel  the  thrill 
That  comes  with  dash  and  daring.   While  we  lie 
Praising  our  petty  gods,  the  great  go  by. 
We  yet  may  find  them,  Soul;  their  glories  fill 
The  far  horizons.   Let  us  mount  the  hill 
And  seek  them,  ere  the  sun  go  down  the  sky : 
We  two  shall  bridge  the  gulf  and  climb  the  height, 
Ford  rapid  rivers,  venture  mighty  seas, 
March  in  the  squares  of  cities;  we  shall  find 
The  captive  princess  waiting  her  brave  knight; 
Then  she  and  thou  and  I  will  drink  the  breeze 
And  live  the  pulsing  life  that  God  designed. 


78 


THE  SOUL 

THE  soul  has  its  own 
Bright  mansion  of  dreams. 
Built  stronger  than  stone 
By  no  earthly  streams; 
Its  home  is  afar 
Past  the  palace  of  night, 
On  the  strand  of  a  star 
In  a  clime  of  delight. 

The  soul  has  a  love 
Past  that  of  the  heart, 
Affections  above 
The  lusts  of  the  mart; 
It  puts  away  fear 
As  taint  of  the  clod, 
And  worships  the  dear 
White  image  of  God. 


79 


AD  ASTRA  PER  ASPERA! 

To  the  stars  through  difficulties !   Go,  my  soul, 
Straight  on  thy  path  of  purpose  ever  higher; 
Retreat  not  from  thy  foes,  man,  beast,  or  fire. 
Fight  through  them !   Fiercely  fight  thou  to  the  goal 
Up  that  far  road  where  constellations  roll; 
God  hath  not  set  low  limit  to  desire 
Nor  stilled  for  thee  the  heavenly  lute  or  lyre. 
Thou,  thou!  must  blaze  the  steep  trail  of  control. 
Burnish  thy  sword !  Thy  golden  mail  swing  on, 
And  with  huge  impulse  burst  thy  racking  bars. 
Wait  not  the  titan  tonic  of  the  dawn, 
Lest  it  should  find  thee  all  too  woe-begone; 
But  forward  now,  while  freshly  bleed  thy  scars, 
And  like  a  giant  stride  on  to  the  stars. 


MESSAGES 

WE  flash  a  thought  across  the  wave, 

A  voice  gives  glad  return, 
And  yet  how  strange  that  from  the  grave 

Comes  not  the  word  we  yearn! 
Thought  leaps  the  hills  and  spans  the  sea, 

Nor  needs  the  singing  wires, 
But  in  the  great  eternity 

We  seem  to  strike  no  fires. 

Small  is  our  faith  and  short  our  sight 

If  we  hear  not  the  word 
Which  from  the  future's  starless  night 

By  great  souls  has  been  heard; 
Our  heart-pleas  pass  to  His  far  deeps 

And  His  grace  leaps  the  dust, 
But  only  he  receives  who  keeps 

His  soul  attuned  to  trust. 


81 


I  WOULD  NOT  HAVE  IT  SO 

I  DREAMED  the  world  was  wiped  out  in  a  day 
And  straight  a  new  was  fashioned  like  the  old, 
Except  there  was  no  need  to  strive  for  gold, 
No  pain,  no  death,  no  strife;  no  skies  were  gray, 
God's  children  in  green  meadows  went  to  play 
And  came  at  night  to  rest  within  His  fold; 
There  was  no  need  for  knights  or  heroes  bold, 
Since  every  heart  beat  high  with  mirth  and  play; 
Then  I  awoke,  and  Oh !  my  joy  was  great 
To  find  that  still  my  soul  had  place  to  grow, 
That  I  might  meet  again  my  foeman,  Fate, 
And  grapple  with  him,  giving  blow  for  blow. 
I  feared  that  he  had  fled  out  through  the  gate 
Of  mighty  change  —  I  would  not  have  it  so. 


THE  FLOWERS  OF  ETERNITY 

THE  good  deeds  we  have  sown, 

They  are  not  lost; 

Their  seeds  have  crossed 

The  heavenly  borderland  and  grown 

Into  eternal  flowers  there 

To  make  His  garden-plots  more  fair. 

Each  good  deed  is  a  rose 

Whose  gentle  grace 

Shall  bless  the  place 

Where  the  good  doer's  spirit  goes; 

For  all  the  heavenly  mansions  stand 

In  gardens  sown  by  human  hand. 

Though  now  invisibly 

The  gardens  grow, 

We  yet  shall  know 

The  flowers  of  eternity, 

And  count  our  roses,  one  by  one, 

In  that  fair  realm  beyond  the  sun. 


83 


VALUES 

THE  soul  is  years  in  making, 

Judge  not  the  whole  by  part; 
We  have  no  way  of  taking 

The  measure  of  the  heart; 
To  other  selves  is  given 

Our  passing  self  to  scan, 
But  only  God  in  heaven 

Can  really  judge  a  man. 

By  no  year's  thoughts  or  actions 

Are  we  to  stand  or  fall, 
The  soul  must  fight  its  factions 

And  yet  may  conquer  all; 
Thus  men  judge  never  rightly 

For  men  see  not  the  whole, 
Judge  not  at  all  or  lightly, 

God  only  knows  the  soul. 


84 


OUT  OF  DARKNESS 

THERE  is  more  in  earth  and  heaven 

Than  we've  ever  dared  to  dream, 
Knowledge  yet  has  not  been  given,  — 

We  have  only  caught  its  gleam; 
All  the  race's  strife  and  sorrow 

Has  but  dimly  lit  the  way 
Toward  the  goal  of  God's  to-morrow, 

To  the  shining  perfect  day. 

Truth  about  us  like  an  ocean 

Waits  for  brave  Balboa's  eyes, 
Force  that  keeps  the  stars  in  motion 

Longs  to  leap  in  enterprise; 
Strange  frail  magi  here  have  hovered 

On  the  earth  through  time  untold, 
Waiting  but  to  be  discovered 

And  turn  common  things  to  gold. 

Virtue  sighs  of  some  Aladdin 

Who  will  bring  her  stores  to  light; 

Justice,  God's  most  radiant  maiden, 

Prays  for  men  to  give  her  sight; 

85 


OUT   OF  DARKNESS 

Art,  the  century-sleeping  beauty, 
Dreams  of  days  when  she  will  wake, 

And  the  trodden  goddess  Duty 
Of  the  battles  for  her  sake. 

Not  of  wondrous  earth-things  only 

Have  we  been  too  blind  to  see, 
Man's  immortal  soul  is  lonely 

For  the  truth  which  makes  it  free; 
Yet  its  own  white-visioned  story 

Waits  the  prophet  and  the  dream, 
God  has  given  it  a  glory 

But  we  scarce  have  caught  the  gleam. 


86 


THE  TRUCE 

I  HAVE  no  feuds  with  warring  life.   We  are 

As  peaceful  as  two  children  fast  asleep; 

The  silence  settles  'twixt  us,  broad  and  deep, 

Our  truce  was  witnessed  by  the  northern  star; 

For  years  his  barriers  have  been  no  bar 

To  any  quest  of  mine.   My  pulses  leap 

From  sense  of  happy  freedom,  yet  I  keep 

A  stealthy  watch  upon  him,  near  and  far, 

For  in  one  moment  he  may,  tiger-like, 

Spring  swiftly  at  my  heart-chords  ere  I  ken 

The  mystery  of  his  motives,  and  may  strike 

So  deep  a  wound  I  shall  not  rise  again, 

But  as  the  old  Dutch  town,  when  broke  the  dike, 

Be  lost  forever  to  a  world  of  men. 


RESERVES 

As  the  spark  flares  red  in  the  ember 

Before  the  flame  has  fled, 
So  the  leaves  in  late  September 

Flash  fire  ere  they  are  dead; 
Earth  spurns  the  thought  of  sighing, 

But  shouts  through  all  her  nerves 
And  in  the  hour  of  dying 

Summons  her  rich  reserves. 

Thus  may  it  be  when  weakly 

Upon  my  bed  I  lie, 
I  would  not  leave  it  meekly 

As  babe  or  bird  might  die, 
But  telling  love's  old  story 

Fast  with  my  falling  breath, 
In  rich  reserves  of  glory 

Oh,  let  me  swoon  in  death. 


88 


THE  FOOD  OF  THE  SOUL 

I  CAME  at  eve  upon  a  lowland  mead 
Unknowing  if  my  walk  was  fact  or  dream, 
And  chanced  me  by  a  strange-environed  stream 
By  whose  dark  waters,  rose  nor  wanton  weed 
Had  ever  lifted  leaves.   In  famished  need 
I  knelt  and  drank,  when  straight  a  silver  gleam 
Of  flowered  fields  arose  in  grace  supreme, 
And  loud  a  Voice  cried  out,  "Thy  every  deed 
Of  life  has  blossomed  here.   Look  thou  and  see 
How  many  sweet  ones  bloom  upon  this  lawn; 
For  thou  shalt  pick  the  sweet  on  bended  knee, 
Starting  thy  endless  journey  with  the  dawn. 
This  stream  is  Death.   And  through  eternity 
They  shall  be  all  thy  soul  shall  feed  upon." 


89 


THE  BATTLE  MUSIC 

AROUND  the  earth,  like  tides  of  ocean, 
Runs  God's  transcendent  harmonies, 

They  break  in  music  of  emotion 
On  hearts  which  touch  the  keys. 

Not  to  the  land  of  far  forever 

Must  all  souls  wait  to  hear  his  song. 

The  men  who  wage  a  great  endeavor 
On  earth  have  heard  it  long. 

The  vast,  white  orchestras  of  heaven 

Have  played  through  countless  perished  years. 

And  they  have  heard  to  whom  is  given 
The  fiercest  trials,  the  hottest  tears. 

They  only  hear  a  song  terrestrial 

Who  fight  to  gain  a  mortal  goal, 
They  hear  the  chords  of  song  celestial 

Who  wage  the  battle  of  the  soul. 


90 


RESIGNATION 

IF  I  knew  that  death's  portal  held  for  me 
Eyes  universal,  which  should  pierce  the  scheme 
Of  infinite  life,  lay  bare  the  mammoth  dream 
Which  baffles  mortal  sense;  if  I  might  see 
The  countless  worlds  unwrapped  of  mystery, 
Behold  time's  self,  past,  present,  and  the  gleam 
Of  God's  great  future;  if  with  His  supreme 
Control  I  might  grasp  all  eternity : 
Ah !  even  then  I  should  not  yearn  to  go 
Into  the  confines  of  that  wondrous  land, 
Believing  that  my  lot  of  human  woe 
Were  portioned  here  to  help  me  understand 
What  in  due  time  is  meant  for  me  to  know, 
When  all  great  things  shall  be  at  my  command. 


91 


THE  VEIL 

I  THOUGHT  a  veil  was  lifted  from  mine  eyes, 
The  veil  that  hides  the  mystic  spirit  land, 
I  saw  the  mighty  wonders  of  His  hand 
For  one  rapt  moment  in  my  vision  rise; 
The  earth  was  filled  with  glory,  and  the  skies 
With  legions  of  His  angels,  band  on  band, 
The  sea  was  white  as  crystal,  —  gold  its  sand, 
And  music  shook  the  world  and  Paradise. 
About  me  were  good  men  whom  I  had  known, 
They  passed  me  by  nor  stopped  to  look  at  me, 
While  she,  the  woman  who  had  been  mine  own, 
She  answered  not  my  call  of  agony. 
'Dear  God,"  I  cried,  "Oh,  let  her  hear  my  moan!" 
And  straight  my  vision  vanished  utterly. 


THE  SOUL-PATH 

OUT  of  my  darkened  vision 
Fast  fades  the  spectre  Night, 

Fleeing  in  dumb  derision 
Before  the  angel,  Light; 

God  has  given  decision 
And  now  I  see  aright. 

In  flesh  I  was  but  dreaming 
Of  light  when  dark  was  fled, 

But  now  that  bitter  seeming 
Is  vanished  since  I'm  dead; 

Truth  undefiled  is  streaming 
The  million  miles  ahead. 

Into  the  worlds  unnumbered 
My  soul-path  I  can  see, 

I  wake  as  one  who  slumbered 
To  win  my  destiny; 

My  soul  is  unencumbered, 
Past  is  my  Calvary. 

93 


THE   SOUL-PATH 

I  tread  the  ways  diurnal 

Through  countless  spheres  of  life 
On  to  the  new  worlds  vernal 

With  no  foe  and  no  strife, 
Knowing  the  road  eternal 

Is  with  new  marvels  rife. 

This  is  my  soul's  endeavor  — 
To  reach  at  last  His  throne, 

'T  will  take  the  vast  forever 
Before  He  can  be  known; 

Till  then  my  soul  can  never 
Say  it  is  all  His  own. 

Each  world 's  a  state  of  thinking 
(God  is  the  pure,  white  thought) ; 

I  travel  on  unshrinking, 
Living  what  He  has  taught, 

^Eon  by  aeon  linking 
To  Him  the  soul  I  've  wrought. 

Unless  my  soul  is  quickened 
Upon  each  new-born  plane, 

I  fall  as  one  heart-sickened 
To  live  it  o'er  again; 

And  only  when  unquickened 
There  comes  the  sense  of  pain. 


94 


THE   SOUL-PATH 

All  things  that  God  created 
At  last  shall  come  to  God; 

In  flesh  I  was  scarce  rated 
Above  the  dreaming  clod, 

But  now  with  flesh  unweighted 
I  am  much  nearer  God. 

But  not  so  near  as  others 
In  countless  worlds  ahead, 

My  spirit-quickened  brothers 
Who,  e'er  men  called  them  dead, 

Learned  that  the  sinning  smothers, 
And  from  the  shining  fled. 

Sometime  in  the  forever 
When  all  the  truths  I  learn, 

I  '11  win  my  soul's  endeavor 
And  find  the  peace  I  yearn; 

Though  cycles  now  us  sever, 
To  God  I  shall  return. 


95 


YEARNING 

MY  soul  has  a  sigh  to  be  free,  — 
To  roam  with  the  scented  winds  over 
The  world,  as  a  weariless  rover, 
Alike  on  the  land  and  the  sea; 
My  soul  has  a  longing  to  be 
Loosed  out  with  the  night's  mystery, 
On  the  fields  of  the  flower  and  clover. 

My  soul  has  a  sighing  to  roam 

Where  beauty's  bright  beacons  are  burning; 

To  the  garlanded  gates  I  am  turning 

That  lead  from  these  castles  of  loam 

To  the  limitless  leagues  of  the  nome 

Which  the  spirit  has  dreamed  as  its  home 

In  the  happiest  moments  of  yearning. 


96 


GOD  IS  NOT  MOCKED 

GOD  is  not  mocked.   There  yet  shall  come 

Upon  this  earth  a  race  of  men 
Whose  might  shall  banish  sword  and  drum, 

And  rule  the  world  with  tongue  and  pen. 

God  is  not  mocked.   There  yet  shall  rise 
A  race  which  shall  fulfill  all  things, 

And  build  beneath  His  happy  skies 
A  State  such  as  the  prophet  sings. 

God  is  not  mocked.   There  yet  shall  be 
A  world  of  men  whose  lives  are  pure, 

Whose  matchless  manhood,  fresh  and  free, 
Shall  father  nations  which  endure. 

God  is  not  mocked.   Our  dearest  dreams 
Shall  some  day  burst  their  ancient  seeds, 

And  in  the  future's  distant  gleams 

Become  the  earth's  transcendent  deeds. 


97 


SHEKLA:  A  VISION 

SHEKLA'S  magic  island  lay 
Three  days'  voyaging  from  Cathay 
In  the  vast  Pacific  sea, 
Shrouded  in  mute  mystery. 

Ships  that  passed  it  ere  the  sun 
All  his  flaming  course  had  run, 
Only  saw  the  crested  waves 
Frothing  o'er  the  coral  caves. 

But  when  Dian's  shield  of  light 
Hung  across  the  dome  of  night, 
Sailors  sometimes  in  a  dream 
Caught  the  sparkle  of  its  gleam. 

None  stepped  foot  on  Shekla's  isle, 
No  man  felt  her  soulful  smile, 
Saving  him  who  with  a  tear 
Writes  this  tale  of  Shekla  here. 

From  a  great  ship  wrecked  afar, 
Clinging  fiercely  to  a  spar, 
With  that  chance  beyond  belief 
I  was  swept  on  Shekla's  reef. 
98 


SHEKLA:   A   VISION 

In  the  darkness  deep  as  death, 
Shorn  of  sense  and  conscious  breath, 
Lay  I  desolate  and  lone 
On  the  ragged  ledge  of  stone. 

Prostrate  there  as  in  death's  hour, 
Pressed  by  some  weird  force  of  power, 
Suddenly  with  light  intense 
Shone  a  great  magnificence. 

Like  an  iridescent  land 
Painted  by  a  master  hand, 
Forged  of  flame  which  felt  not  warm, 
Shekla's  island  leaped  to  form. 

Scarce  three  furlongs'  length  of  shore 

Girt  its  soft,  ethereal  floor, 

All  about  the  filmy  lea 

Washed  the  waves  of  crystal  sea. 

I  was  lying  on  a  lawn 
Where  the  grass  grew  white  as  dawn, 
Near  a  brook  of  lucent  hue 
Running  water  pure  as  dew. 

Sheer  beside  me  was  a  grove 
Wherein  angel-souls  might  rove; 
Shadowless,  like  pure  desire, 
All  the  trees  were  living  fire. 
99 


SHEKLA:  A   VISION 

Flashing  in  the  brilliant  night, 
Shaped  of  solid  diamond-light, 
Wondrous,  dominating  all,  — 
This  was  Shekla's  palace  hall. 

Near  the  gates  in  gorgeous  bowers 
Bloomed  the  subtle  spirit  flowers; 
From  my  place  the  palace  lay 
Huge,  transparent,  bright  as  day. 

From  her  nacreous  island  ways, 
Radiant,  stately,  passing  praise, 
Like  a  flame  of  life  came  she, 
Shekla,  hovering  over  me. 

At  her  word  my  startled  eyes 
Opened  wide  in  wild  surprise, 
Even  now  my  pulses  stir 
At  the  loveliness  of  her. 

Silently  she  bore  me  up, 
To  my  parched  lips  pressed  a  cup, 
And  on  cloth  of  light  she  placed 
Food  which  mortals  never  taste. 

Shekla's  being  seemed  to  glow 
Grace  which  only  dreamers  know, 
As  they  glimpse  within  the  real 
God's  impalpable  ideal. 
100 


SHEKLA:   A  VISION 

Soft  as  sleep  her  gentle  voice 
Whispered,  "Follow  and  rejoice!" 
Then  she  led  me,  hah*  in  fright, 
Down  the  halls  of  limpid  light. 

Banked  by  steps  aflame  yet  cool, 
In  the  palace  court  a  pool 
Lay  with  silent,  crimson  brink,  — 
Here  she  bade  me  kneel  and  drink. 

"Wait!"  I  cried  in  vague  alarm, 
Shaken  by  the  sense  of  harm, 

"Who  art  thou?  Make  answer,  lest 
I  should  scorn  thy  strange  request." 

Accents  fell  from  her  fair  lips 
Soft  as  touch  of  finger  tips, 
Smiling  gravely  down  she  said, 
"Knowest  not  that  thou  art  dead? 

"Ended  are  thy  years  of  strife, 
His  blood  is  the  blood  of  life; 
Drinking  it  thou  shalt  remain 
Where  the  King  of  Kings  doth  reign. 

"This  isle  where  thou  late  were  hurled 
Is  the  mystic  other  world; 
This  the  palace  He  hath  built, 
Thine  to  live  in  if  thou  wilt." 
101 


SHEKLA:   A   VISION 

"Why  dost  thou  behold  in  fear 
Her  thou  once  hath  held  so  dear? 
I  am  she  who  passed  before 
To  the  unknown  spirit-shore. 

"Drink!  and  henceforth  thou  shalt  live 
Of  the  bread  which  He  shall  give; 
Drink,  and  thou  hast  reached  the  goal 
Of  thine  own  immortal  soul." 

"Who  art  thou?"  again  I  cried, 
"  Many  dear  to  me  have  died." 
"I  am  thy  soul's  soul,"  said  she, 
"Hast  thy  love  lost  memory?" 

' '  Beauteous  woman !   Sorceress ! 
I  distrust  thy  artfulness. 
Blaspheme  not  her  precious  name, 
She  and  thou  art  not  the  same. 

"By  her  pure  and  lovelit  face, 
By  her  simple,  girlish  grace, 
I  should  know  her  soul  for  mine 
Whether  human  or  divine. 

"Thou  art  not  as  she  has  been; 
Prove  that  thou  art  of  my  kin, 
Give  the  sign  and  speak  the  word 
Which  my  human  ear  hath  heard." 
102 


SHEKLA:   A   VISION 

Grave  of  voice  she  turned  away : 
"In  the  realm  of  endless  day 
Doubt  is  not,  nor  moth,  nor  rust, 
All  is  joy  and  love  and  trust. 

"Tall  and  changed,  I  seem  to  stand, 
Soul-grown  in  this  sinless  land; 
If  thou  trust,  thou  too  shalt  grow, 
If  thou  trust  not,  rise  and  go. 

"Who  drinks  not  His  precious  blood 
Never  joins  the  happy  Good, 
Thou  must  live  on  earth  again 
Learning  faith  and  trust  from  men. 

"Sometime  in  the  future  years 
Purified  by  trial  and  tears, 
Swept  by  life's  o'erwhelming  tide, 
Thou  shalt  come  here  fearless-eyed." 

As  she  ceased  and  gently  turned, 
Waiting,  while  my  pulses  burned, 
Palsied  then  by  demon  doubt 
At  my  word  she  led  me  out. 

Shekla  spoke  and  swift  I  saw 
Other  isles  of  dazzling  awe; 
Past  the  spot  where  I  was  hurled 
Lay  the  lovely  spirit  world. 
103 


SHEKLA:   A   VISION 

What  I  deemed  but  barren  sea 
Blazed  in  peerless  pageantry; 
Like  huge  stars  His  mansions  shone, 
Each  in  splendor  of  its  own. 

Begging  then,  a  maddened  fool, 
For  her  guidance  to  the  pool, 
She  gave  answer  stern  as  fate, 
'Know  that  now  it  is  too  late." 

Fast  as  lightning  flashes,  so 
Woke  I  to  the  world  of  woe; 
Where  had  loomed  her  beauteous  form 
Crashed  the  fierce  Pacific  storm. 

On  that  fragile  ledge  of  reef 
Clutched  by  sharpest  fangs  of  grief, 
There  I  lay  till  morning  pale 
Brought  to  me  the  saving  sail. 

None  has  since  seen  Shekla's  isle, 
No  man  feels  her  soulful  smile 
Saving  him  who  with  a  tear 
Writes  this  tale  of  Shekla  here. 


104 


THE  PATIENT  WAYS 

WE  have  not  learned  the  patient  ways  to  keep, 
We  ask  the  crown  but  chafe  beneath  the  cross 
Of  its  attainment.   Till  the  dregs  of  dross 
Be  worn  away,  no  golden  things  we  reap; 
Time  loves  not  haste.   The  sordid  years  are  deep 
With  hidden  treasure.   Oh,  the  sorry  loss, 
Weaving  our  webs  with  time's  unlovely  floss  — 
Patterns  that  make  the  Master  Weaver  weep ! 
Ah,  well  He  knew  the  spirit's  patient  ways 
And  how  to  bide  His  time.   Think!  thirty  years 
Of  waiting  ere  He  entered  on  the  days 
Of  ministry.   Why  should  our  future  fears 
Make  us  so  restless?   Patience's  voice  allays 
All  discord  in  the  soul  of  him  who  hears. 


105 


THE  TALENTS 

WE  have  not  all  the  talents  ten  received, 
Few  march  in  the  battalion  of  the  best, 
Weaponed  to  win.   And  few  with  five  are  blest, 
The  millions  have  but  one.   Be  not  aggrieved, 
For  what  thou  hast,  and  with  it  what  achieved, 
Are  all  that  counts  with  Him.   He  did  invest 
Thy  soul  with  His  own  purposeful  bequest; 
Courage!  my  comrade,  He  is  not  deceived. 
Dig  from  the  earth  thy  talent.   Haste  to  bring 
It  bright  and  shining  to  the  market-place, 
Or  haste  thou  where  the  striving  legions  swing 
Into  the  fields  unconquered  by  the  race; 
Cannot  thine  arm  support  the  wounded  king, 
Or  word  of  thine  bring  smile  to  some  sad  face? 


106 


A  SONG  OF  SALVATION 

HE  has  buried  my  burden  of  failures  so  deep  they  will 
rise  again  never, 

They  rest  in  oblivion's  ocean,  the  sea  of  forgotten  for 
ever, 

He  has  captured  the  gates  of  my  being,  transformed 
the  old  idols  of  living; 

To  Him  will  I  raise  the  voice  of  my  praise  —  Oh,  well 
does  He  merit  thanksgiving! 

He  came  unto  me  in  the  night-time,  when  I  prayed  that 

the  sun  of  to-morrow 
Would  still  remain  sunk  in  the  darkness,  the  cloak 

of  my  sinning  and  sorrow, 
He  came  to  me  out  of  the  starlight,  when  my  soul  was 

too  wretched  for  sleeping, 
And  hearing  my  moan  He  made  me  His  own,  and  now 

I  am  safe  in  His  keeping. 

So  swift  was  His  word  of  redemption,  my  soul  is  still 

trembling  in  wonder; 
His  love  is  the  sum  of  all  lovings,  no  evil  can  put  us 

asunder ; 
He  has  made  me  a  child  of  His  own,  I  am  one  with  the 

host  of  Forgiven; 
And  here  upon  earth,  though  meagre  my  worth,  I  am 

tasting  the  joys  of  His  heaven. 
107 


OH,  I  am  weak;  a  man  am  I  of  clay, 

Who  has  strange  fevers  racing  in  his  blood 

Which  drive  me  panic-like  from  paths  of  good ; 

For  I  am  son  of  sires  who  plunged  in  play, 

Knowing  that  they,  at  least,  no  price  should  pay; 

Bold  cavaliers  who  with  mad  kings  have  stood 

In  revel  till  their  stock  of  fatherhood 

Passed  half  polluted  to  the  present  day. 

Yet  though  I  'm  bound  in  chains  which  will  not  break, 

But  which  shall  ever  bind  me  hour  by  hour, 

Still  have  I  faith  He  will  in  mercy  take 

My  hand  in  His,  and  give  me  of  His  power, 

And  through  the  stormy  years  my  manhood  make 

As  strong  and  firm  as  some  great  granite  tower. 


108 


I  WILL  HAVE  FAITH 

HE  will  show  me  the  path  I  shall  tread, 

He  will  lead  in  the  ways  that  are  winding, 
Through  the  golden  glow  of  the  day, 

And  the  gloom  of  the  night  which  is  blinding; 
He  will  show  me  His  haven  of  rest, 

And  give  me  the  strength  for  its  winning, 
Though  my  courage  shall  fail  and  my  lips  grow  pale 

From  the  trial,  the  struggle,  and  sinning. 

For  He  is  the  One  I  have  loved 

Through  the  hours  of  hoping  and  weeping, 
I  have  given  my  word  to  His  own, 

And  entrusted  my  soul  to  His  keeping; 
In  the  deep,  stark  dread  of  the  gloom, 

He  will  send  me  the  light  I  am  needing, 
His  love  will  reveal  and  His  angels  shall  heal 

The  wTound  in  my  heart  that  is  bleeding. 

Then  faith  I  will  have  to  the  end, 

And  the  end  of  the  struggle  is  nearing, 
I  will  call  upon  Him  for  my  strength, 

And  take  up  my  task  without  fearing; 
And  the  word  which  He  gave  will  prevail, 

He  will  grant  me  the  peace  of  endeavor, 
For  he  is  my  friend  through  the  years  without  end, 

My  God  and  my  Keeper  forever. 
109 


RELEASE 

I  PACED  the  street  at  evening  and  my  soul  was  fraught 

with  fears, 
Haunted  by  sins  and  shadows  and  the  ghosts  of  former 

years; 
I  sought  in  the  depths  of  darkness  for  a  soothing 

anodyne, 
But  no  moon  shone  in  the  heavens  and  the  glad  stars 

did  not  shine; 
From  the  sombre  leagues  to  eastward  the  wind  came 

off  the  sea, 
Bringing  balm  to  the  senses,  but  not  to  the  heart  of 

me, 

And  growing  still  more  fearful,  I  turned  about  to  go 
Back  to  my  restless  pillow  with  the  burden  of  my  woe. 

Then  suddenly  in  the  darkness  a  man  walked  by  my 

side, 
Subtle  and  strange  of  figure,  like  one  who  had  long 

since  died; 
He  made  no  sound  in  walking,  and  his  lips  gave  forth 

no  speech, 
And  the  hand  that  I  extended  he  made  no  move  to 

reach. 

110 


RELEASE 

My  lips  were  dumb  to  question,  for  silence  enthralled 

my  soul, 
And  thus  we  two  walked  homeward,  and  when  we  had 

reached  the  goal, 
I  turned  to  find  he  had  vanished,  —  and  straight  my 

soul  was  free 
From  the  ghosts  and  the  sins  and  shadows,  for  Christ 

had  walked  with  me. 


Ill 


THE  SHRINE 

ALONE,  with  hardened  eyes  which  shed  no  tears, 
Accursed  of  men  and  wounded  sore  by  fate, 
I  turned  through  Memory's  secret  wicket  gate 
In  search  of  solace  for  my  fiendish  fears. 
It  seemed  I  walked  among  my  prayerless  years 
Marshaled  like  cypress  trees,  each  tree  sedate, 
Yet  blighted  at  the  heart  by  sin  or  hate, 
And  having  not  the  beauty  which  endears. 
Then  pressing  far  I  found  a  hidden  shrine, 
Whereat  my  youthful  footsteps  once  had  trod; 
So  crumbled  was  it  I  could  scarce  divine 
Faint  letters  I  had  carved  above  the  sod, 
But  peering  close  I  read,  "Lord,  I  am  Thine," 
And  lo !  my  lips  burst  forth  in  praise  to  God. 


112 


THE  GLORY  OF  ISRAEL 

THERE  was  a  glory  once  in  Israel, 

Lo!  how  hath  it  departed  from  its  shore; 

Jerusalem  the  mighty  is  no  more; 

Gone  are  the  Romans  from  the  citadel, 

The  king's  court  hath  no  need  of  sentinel; 

Silence  enshrouds  the  ancient  fisher's  oar, 

The  Chosen  People  from  afar  deplore 

Strange  destiny,  without  a  parallel: 

But  though  its  cities,  razed  by  fire  and  sword, 

Lift  not  their  turrets  by  blue  Galilee, 

And  all  the  land  lies  captive  to  a  horde 

Which  long  had  been  its  watchful  enemy, 

Yet  hath  the  house  of  David  through  its  Lord 

The  heritage  of  immortality. 


113 


THE  LOVE  THAT  PUEIFIED 

THEY  were  impatient;  some  had  waited  long, 

But  Night  swung  not  ajar  his  portaled  gate, 

All  locked  and  barred  it  stood,  nor  even  Fate 

Could  break  it  through;  till  soft  as  subtle  song 

The  Dawn,  in  sun-wrought  robes,  stole  by  the  throng, 

And  plying  silver  key  she  said,  "Why  wait? 

The  road  is  clean,  from  sin  inviolate, 

Then  pass  thou  on  in  peace  and  do  no  wrong." 

There  rose  a  mighty  shout;  they  crowded  past, 
And  o'er  the  virgin  road  they  fought  their  way. 
They  built  a  cross  where  some  they  crucified; 
Again  the  lots  were  for  the  garments  cast : 
Great  God!  they  would  have  blackened  all  the  day 
Had'st  Thou  not  sent  the  love  that  purified. 


114 


THEIR  EASTER  AND  OURS 

ERE  the  Master  came  to  claim  His  own, 
Ere  the  angel  came  to  roll  the  stone, 
How  many  sad  years  did  the  world,  forlorn, 
In  patience  wait  for  its  Easter  morn ! 

I  think  that  for  ages  in  silence  dumb 
The  multitudes  waited  for  Him  to  come, 
For  years  and  years  in  the  world's  young  life 
They  waited  for  Him  to  still  their  strife. 

And  then  He  came  and  they  knew  Him  not! 
What  a  sorrowful  tale  was  their  sorry  lot ! 
No  Gate  of  Hope  would  they  recognize, 
The  very  light  had  blinded  their  eyes ! 

No  Easter  had  they  but  the  silent  tomb, 
Their  Easter  morn  was  a  morn  of  gloom; 
And  the  hopes  of  years  were  turned  to  grief 
By  the  obstinate  phantom  of  disbelief. 

Yet  we  who  know  Him  not  half  so  well 
Are  happy  of  heart  by  the  Easter  bell, 
And  our  doubts  of  Him  are  ever  belied 
By  the  full  pure  surge  of  the  Easter-tide. 
115 


THEIR  EASTER  AND   OURS 

It  was  written  of  old  that  He  came  to  save, 
And  He  in  his  strength  would  conquer  the  grave; 
Now  the  centuries  gone  have  witnessed  the  proof 
By  the  Easter-tides  that  the  Word  was  Truth ! 

Ten  thousand  bells  shall  ring  in  the  day 
That  marked  the  ending  of  Death's  dread  sway, 
And  a  whole  world's  songs  for  them  shall  atone 
Who  knew  Him  not  when  He  came  to  His  own ! 


116 


TIME 

I  SAW  a  giant  armed  with  many  lashes 

Whipping  a  host  of  dwarfs  through  some  star-city; 
Anon  they  turned  on  him,  but  short  the  clashes, 

He  pressed  them  forward  fiercely  without  pity. 

Where  go  they?  Who  is  he  that  drives  them, 
And  like  a  fiend  demands  eternal  questing? 

Is  it  that  he  by  constant  faring  shrives  them 
Of  sin  that  never  could  be  cleansed  by  resting? 


117 


THE  MODERN  JUDAS 

THE  type  has  never  perished  from  the  earth, 
But  has  come  down  these  twenty  centuries 
Through  ancient  lands,  across  the  western  seas, 
Wherever  God's  new  races  found  a  birth; 
To-day  his  shriveled  soul,  devoid  of  mirth, 
Eager  to  sell  his  Christ  for  paltry  fees 
And  plunge  the  world  in  sadder  tragedies, 
Is  seen  still  plotting  for  the  silver's  worth : 
But  all  too  slowly  does  his  judgment  come, 
And  all  too  often  we  accord  him  praise; 
So  masterly  he  barters  for  the  sum, 
We  scarcely  know  Judas  of  ancient  days, 
We  heed  the  silver,  not  the  odium 
And  dark  design  of  his  Satanic  ways. 


118 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

THE  north  wind  rustles  in  the  roads 
Where  snow  is  spreading  blankets  light, 

And  on  the  window-panes  of  shops 
The  frost  weaves  portieres  of  white. 

The  sad  old  stars  peep  out  to  watch 

Their  precious  child,  the  Christmas  Eve, 

Who  comes  in  sable  chariot 

To  give  the  world  a  short  reprieve. 

Through  darkened  street  the  toiler  plods, 

He  whistles  soft  a  roundelay, 
With  mind  intent  upon  the  thought, 

To-morrow  is  a  holiday. 

At  midnight  when  the  lights  are  out, 

The  world,  all  breathless,  seems  to  pause 

To  welcome  with  a  little  bow 
The  kingly  form  of  Santa  Claus. 

Then  through  the  watches  of  the  night 
There  falls  the  voice  of  Him,  again, 

Who,  long  ago,  in  Palestine, 

His  blessing  gave  to  struggling  men. 
119 


DESCRIPTIVE 


UNINITIATED 

WHO  hath  not  walked  beside  the  sea 
And  loved  the  languor  of  its  sand, 

Dreaming  of  all  the  things  that  be, 
Life  here  and  life  beyond  the  strand. 

He  hath  not  met  with  majesty, 
His  soul  hath  freedom  yet  to  learn; 

He  cannot  picture  eternity, 

Where  God's  bright  beacon  fires  burn. 


123 


THE  VANISHED  MOUNTAINS 

MILES  upon  miles  they  toss,  the  wrathful  waves, 
Without  one  point  of  land  to  mar  the  main, 
And  this  you  say  is  Neptune's  primal  plain, 
Where  now  as  in  lost  years  he  rants  and  raves 
Meeting  no  barriers,  cliffs,  nor  sounding  caves; 
Ah !  had  you  viewed  of  old  this  wide  domain 
You  would  have  glimpsed  a  mighty  mountain  chain 
Disputing  mastery  of  these  ocean  graves. 
But  age  by  age  the  sea-god  beat  them  down; 
His  thunder-bolted  waters  shot  the  shore. 
On  one  wild  eve  some  sailors,  like  to  drown, 
Saw  half  the  hills  give  way  with  fearful  roar ; 
Now  Neptune  wears  in  peace  his  royal  crown, 
For  here  the  snowy  peaks  are  seen  no  more. 


124 


APPREHENSION 

I  WILL  awake  with  dawn,  arise  and  go 

Far  down  the  countryside  to  learn  if  still 

There  is  mad  music  hi  the  tumbling  rill 

And  barefoot  memories  where  rivers  flow, 

Or  shining  dreams  on  fruit-trees  hung  with  snow, 

Balm  in  the  breath  of  morning,  —  and  a  thrill 

In  hearing  ploughmen  singing  while  they  till 

Dew-diamonded  fields :  —  I  am  sick  to  know 

If  these  things  greet  me  with  the  old-time  charm, 

Entrance  me  as  they  did  when  but  a  boy, 

I  thought  the  world  was  just  my  father's  farm, 

And  living  was  a  rainbow  dream  of  joy; 

I  will  arise  —  I  have  a  vague  alarm, 

Years  have  conspired  their  magic  to  destroy. 


125 


NIAGARA 

WHEN  lakes  of  western  waters,  prison  bound 
From  breaking  of  the  world's  first  crimson  morn, 
Searched  with  a  strong  and  ancient  hope  forlorn 
Then-  strange  and  undiscovered  shores  around, 
And  yet  no  welcome  door  to  freedom  found, 
But  saw  beyond  Niagara's  neck  of  land 
The  distant  glories  of  the  Atlantic  grand 
And  heard  the  eternal  thunder's  muffled  sound; 
Then,  as  some  mountain  glacier,  huge  and  deep, 
That  grinds  and  crushes  each  opposing  foe 
Which  from  the  valley's  liberties  would  keep 
Its  mighty  weight  of  captive  ice  and  snow, 
The  waters  moved  and  took  Niagara's  leap 
And  thundered  to  the  sea  with  joyful  flow. 


126 


CASTLES  OF  THE  SEA 

SUMMER'S  breath  is  on  the  ocean,  fragrant  from  far 

southern  lands, 
She  has  brought  her  splendor  northward  here  to  grace 

our  rock-ribbed  strands; 
In  the  white-winged,  purple  distance,  mystery  has 

draped  her  isles 
With  a  languorous,  lazy  magic  which  goes  drifting 

down  the  miles. 

Here  the  sands  lie  hot  and  heavy,  yonder  where  the 

shore-line  curls, 
Veiled  by  mists  of  dim  horizons,  they  are  gray  as  smoky 

pearls, 
And  the  rocks  look  soft  as  pillows,  fanned  by  lazy  winds 

of  sleep, 
Which  come  lightly  o'er  the  billows  from  the  chambers 

of  the  deep. 

This  is  love's  own  place  for  dreaming;  out  upon  the 

surging  foam 
Fairy  ships  move  slow  and  stately  to  the  harbors  of 

their  home, 

127 


CASTLES  OF  THE  SEA 

And  across  the  sunlit  waters,  on  the  far  shore  of  the 

bay, 
There    are    children,    laughing,    splashing,    making 

merry  in  their  play. 

But  my  soul  is  building  castles  out  across  the  leagues 

of  brine, 

Ivory  turrets  rise  majestic  and  the  palaces  are  mine; 
Love  walks  with  me  down  the  gardens,  out  upon  the 

velvet  sod, 
And  our  lives  are  spent  in  loving  there  among  the 

isles  of  God. 


128 


THE  DAKK  OF  THE  MOON 

DIANA'S  crescent  ship, 
By  silver  chain  and  lock, 

Lay  anchored  in  the  slip 
Of  Pluto's  secret  dock. 

Apollo,  from  his  race 

First-fought  across  the  skies, 
Drew  rein  with  angry  face 

In  ancient  paradise. 

Beside  a  sapphire  stream 
That  fed  the  steeds  of  Day, 

Enthralled  in  love-lit  dream 
The  faithless  Hermes  lay. 

"Awake!  and  take  thy  wings! 

(The  sun-god  plied  his  whip) 
And  bid  these  underlings 
To  launch  Diana's  ship. 

"Be  sure  thou  do  not  fail, 

On  thee,  fool,  worlds  await, 
And  this,  her  first  night  sail, 
Must  not  be  launched  a-late." 
129 


THE   DARK  OF  THE   MOON 

Then  Hermes,  nursing  wrath, 
In  silence  took  his  flight, 

And  though  down  Pluto's  path, 
Reached  not  the  court  of  night, 

But  met,  full-gowned  in  sheaf, 

Proserpine,  his  love, 
And  from  the  realms  of  Grief 

Escorted  her  above. 

And  thus  the  crescent  ship 
From  its  Lethean  clime 

Left  not  the  secret  slip 
At  its  appointed  time. 

When  from  the  azure  sea 
Diana's  barque  is  missed, 

'T  is  waiting  in  the  lee 
While  Hermes  has  his  tryst. 


130 


THE  DEMON  DAWN 

THE  twilight  came  to  soothe  my  furrowed  care, 
The  night  to  ease  the  edge  of  pallid  pain, 
And  sleep  to  quiet  all  the  woes  mundane, 
Then  silken  dreams,  lest  sleep  should  be  too  bare, 
Folded  their  films  around  me,  rich  and  rare; 
Thus  lay  I,  marveling  in  their  silver  skein 
Of  phantasy,  till  night  was  on  the  wane 
And  dawn  peered  in,  disfigured  by  despair, 
Calling  me  back  to  care's  calm  slavery, 
Whetting  the  sword  of  pain,  mine  ancient  foe, 
Rousing  again  his  friend,  relentless  woe; 
O  demon  Dawn !  what  devil  dwells  in  thee, 
That  thou  shouldst  enter  here  so  fiendishly, 
And  shatter  all  the  happiness  I  know? 


131 


ON  THE  BEACH  AT  EVENING 

OUT  on  the  beach  at  evening,  under  the  shining  stars, 
Where  the  deep,  dull  dirge  of  the  ocean's  surge  sweeps 

o'er  the  harbor  bars, 
Lights  that  move  in  the  distance,  lights  that  gleam  on 

the  shore,  — 
This  seems  to  be  eternity,  where  we  shall  slave  no  more. 

Peace  descends  with  the  starlight,  and  over  the  soft, 

cool  sands 
The  night  wind  blows  the  scent  of  rose  from  gracious 

garden  lands; 
Bright  are  your  eyes  in  the  darkness;  sad  is  the  song 

of  the  sea; 
The  world,  dear  love,  is  fashioned  of  we  two  and 

mystery. 

Out  on  the  beach  at  evening,  where  the  strange,  soft 
sounds  of  night 

Come  gently  o'er  the  stretch  of  shore  with  a  muffled 
cadence  light, 

Oh,  this  the  time  for  loving,  when  the  sea  song  over 
powers, 

And  the  mute  stars  shine  above  the  brine  through  the 
precious,  priceless  hours. 
132 


FANCY-LAND 

THERE  is  soft,  purple  charm  to  the  night 

And  gold  on  the  garb  of  the  day, 
There  are  castles  all  ivory  white, 

And  strange,  fairy  children  at  play, 
There  are  mountains  that  loom  great  and  grand, 

Far  glimpses  of  seas  shining  bright, 
And  blossom-blown  fields  in  the  land, 

The  fanciful  land  of  delight. 

There  the  zephyr  eternally  blows 

Through  the  valleys  and  gardens  in  glee; 
Down  the  meadows  a  great  river  flows 

Past  the  flowering  fields  to  the  sea; 
In  my  barque  on  this  mystical  stream, 

Unrestrained  in  my  moods,  fancy-free, 
I  drift  down  the  river,  —  and  dream 

Of  the  world  and  eternity. 


133 


THE  BIRTHPLACE  OF  DREAMS 

OVER  the  hills  where  the  moon  hangs  low 

In  the  mystic  eastern  night, 

Building  her  castles  light 

On  the  silvery  floor  of  the  ocean's  foam, 

In  the  track  of  the  path  that  leads  to  home,  — 

(For  the  sea  is  eternity 

And  our  home  is  infinity), 

There  where  the  tides  lead  out  of  time 

Through  the  moon-built  gates  to  another  clime, — 

Take  me,  O  Hermes,  fast  in  thy  flight 

Into  those  castles,  ivory  white, 

Ere  the  nymph  of  sleep  her  potion  applies, 

Casting  the  magic  over  mine  eyes, 

That  I  may  just  one  vision  win 

Of  the  place  where  my  dreams  have  origin. 


134 


A  VILLANELLE  OF  SPRING 

OH,  crimson  forges  of  the  East! 

South  winds  thy  bellows  blow, 
The  world  from  thee  new  life  has  leased. 

The  good  King  Winter,  late  deceased, 

He  died  because  thou  burned  him  so; 
Oh,  crimson  forges  of  the  East! 

New  gowns  for  nature,  man,  and  beast, 

Thy  daughter  Spring  has  brought;  we  know 
The  world  from  thee  new  life  has  leased. 

The  diamond  day  thy  marriage  priest 

Has  thrown  his  flowers  to  and  fro, 
Oh,  crimson  forges  of  the  East ! 

We  come  with  gladness  to  thy  feast, 

Thy  sons  and  daughters,  friend  and  foe, 
The  world  from  thee  new  life  has  leased. 

Our  tides  of  joy  are  so  increased, 

High  water-marks  all  go ! 
Oh,  crimson  forges  of  the  East! 
The  world  from  thee  new  life  has  leased. 
135 


A  NIGHT  FANCY 

THIS  tide  of  night  that  surges  slowly 

Over  the  orchard  walls 
Seems  the  return  of  glooms  once  holy 

In  the  monastic  halls. 

This  bell  whose  chimes  are  sweetly  winging 

Across  the  evening  hour 
Is  as  an  old  bell  softly  ringing 

In  the  monastic  tower. 

And  these  dim  forms  that  in  the  garden 
Are  night-cowled  apple-trunks 

Seem  to  be  penitents  praying  pardon  — 
They  are  the  grim  old  monks. 


136 


THE  HAPPY  LAND 

THERE  is  a  land  of  rare  realities 

Whose  sunsets  all  are  golden,  and  whose  dawns 

Are  as  the  first  white  dawn  that  flashed 

Upon  a  new-forged  world.   Its  afternoons 

Are  silver-sandaled  dreams  of  phantasy, 

Its  nights  are  deepened  twilights,  cool,  and  sweet 

With  some  strange  incense,  and  its  moons 

Unwearied  from  their  climbing  of  the  skies, 

Reflect  the  splendor  of  that  brighter  clime 

Which  mortals  ken  in  dreaming.   Through  the  heart 

Of  this  fair  land,  a  river  blue  as  austral  skies 

Murmurs  a  haunting  song.   Its  stretch  of  shores 

Is  laid  with  marble  whiter  than  its  moons, 

And  on  the  snowy  tiles  the  people  come 

At  evening  from  their  palaces  which  rise 

In  pearl  succession  back  unto  the  brow 

Of  purple  hills.   And  there,  with  chant  and  song, 

Or  liquid  utterance  in  voices  soft 

These  happiest  of  mortals  walk  and  dream; 

There  is  no  striving,  life  goes  idly  by, 

As  idly  as  an  aspen  shakes  its  leaves; 

They  walk  and  rest  and  dream,  they  love 

Better  than  people  ever  loved  before; 

It  is  the  land  wherein  we  all  have  been 

A  moment  or  a  year. 

137 


THE  WHITE  EAGLE 

THAT  white  eagle  which  goes  by 
Piercing  the  blue,  untrameled  sky, 
It  is  no  bird,  though  bird  it  seems, 
It  is  the  ages'  wrought-out  dreams. 

That  fine  grace  which  you  see  there, 
Riding  the  swift  tides  of  the  air, 
How  to  the  senses  it  doth  please ! 
That  is  the  grace  of  the  centuries. 

And  that  speed  which  bears  it  far, 
Till  but  a  speck  is  its  white  car, 
That  is  the  speed  which  came  to  life 
After  a  cycle's  ceaseless  strife. 


138 


THE  VALLEY 

I  SAW  three  mountains  standing  calm  and  clear 
Against  the  samite  dawn.   Their  peaks  of  snow 
Dazzled  with  diamond-leaping  light,  as  though 
The  parapets  of  paradise  were  near. 
Between  them  stretched  a  valley,  so  austere 
Methought  it  was  the  shadow-shore  of  woe, 
The  region  of  wrecked  souls,  the  overflow 
On  earth  of  Dante's  sad-scened  under-sphere: 
And  pressing  through  that  place  unparalleled, 
Searching  for  what  in  such  land  could  remain, 
A  host  of  pallid  people  I  beheld 
Who  strove  to  climb  the  halcyon  heights  in  vain. 
"What  peaks?  what  vale?"  I  cried,  by  awe  impelled. 
"The  peaks  of  peace,"  they  said,  "the  vale  of  pain." 


139 


BESIDE  THE  SHORE  ROAD 

HERE  lies  an  old,  worn  highway  winding  far 
Into  the  dwindling  distances.  Along  its  trail 
On  one  hand,  climbing  quickly  toward  the  west, 
The  stone-walled  meads  of  old  New  England  rise 
To  heights  of  great  advantage,  there  to  watch 
The  crimson  ceremonials  of  the  sun, 
Which  takes  its  liveried  farewell  of  the  day 
In  mighty  maze  of  color.  .  .  .  This  old  road 
Runs  close  beside  the  sea,  yet  ere  the  land 
Plunges  into  the  tide,  there  is  a  stretch 
Of  wondrous  russet  lawn  which  parallels 
And  ever  keeps  apace  the  beaten  trail, 
As  though  it  fain  had  tried 
In  many  a  sweet,  forgotten  morn  of  spring 
To  throw  its  early  emerald  coverlet 
Over  the  ashen  aspect  of  the  dust 
And  hide  its  hues  forever.  .  .  .  Just  beyond 
This  sweep  of  sunburnt  turf  the  open  sea, 
With  beach  line  quite  as  winding  as  the  road, 
Heaves  heavy  crest  of  pearl.  While  here  and  there 
At  undeliberate,  luckless  intervals 
Along  this  peaceful  parking  by  the  sea, 
A  row  of  giant  trees,  their  branches  bare 
140 


BESIDE  THE  SHORE   ROAD 

From  too  much  wild  embracing  with  the  wind, 

Stand  stark  in  loneliness.   To  eastward  lies 

The  white-whipped,    tossing  leagues  of    lambent 

foam; 

And  far  out  in  the  purple  mists  a  sail 
Shudders  against  a  sky-line  undefined.   Above, 
Piercing  the  crisp  December  air 
Two  wild  birds  wing  their  unmolested  way 
Unto  a  homing  haven.  ...  I  came  down 
A  while  ago  from  these  unharassed  hills 
And  stood  me  for  a  time  beside  the  road 
Gazing  upon  the  sea.  ...  I  went  away 
And  took  with  me  the  freedom  and  the  joy, 
The  loneliness,  the  majesty,  and  all 
The  vigor  and  the  rapture  of  that  scene 
Defying  sense  to  fathom. 


141 


THE  PIRATEER 

THE  lightning  flashed  and  thunder  crashed, 
And  the  foam  flew  high  that  day, 
When  the  black-flagged  ship  and  her  treasure  hoard 
Sank  down  in  a  stormless  sea. 

The  great  guns  cried  and  brave  men  died, 
And  the  fight  was  hot  that  day, 
When  the  outlaw  and  her  pirate  lord 
Went  deep  to  a  lifeless  sea. 

The  bright  sun  beamed  and  still  waves  gleamed, 
When  the  divers  searched  next  day; 
But  the  treasure-ship  and  all  on  board 
Lay  still  in  a  secret  sea. 


142 


SONG  OF  THE  WHITE  COMPANY 

WE  are  troopers  brave  and  bold 
With  the  silver-prancing  steeds, 
And  our  helmets  gleam  with  gold 
O'er  the  shining  English  meads. 
Oh,  flashing  our  sabres  high 
We  thunder  across  the  fields, 
And  the  motto,  "We  dare  to  die," 
Is  graven  upon  our  shields. 
Refrain  — 

Hear  the  beat,  beat,  beat  of  OUT  horses  on  the  highway, 
And  the  jangle  and  the  clanging  of  our  spurs, 
See  the  swift  love-glance  of  the  maiden  in  the  by-way, 
She  is  singling  out  the  trooper  she  prefers; 
Purple  plumes  and  flags  a-dancing  when  we  ride  upon 

parade, 

There  is  shouting  when  the  cavalry  they  see; 
For  the  people  have  acclaimed  us  as  the  best  of  the 

brigade, 

And  they  cheer  for  the  White  Company. 
We  are  dauntless  men  of  war, 
Awaiting  the  wild  alarms, 
For  we  love  the  field  of  gore 
And  the  clanging  call  to  arms, 
143 


SONG  OF  THE  WHITE   COMPANY 

We  sweep  to  the  smoking  front, 
With  a  shout  and  song  we  go, 
And  our  good  blades  bear  the  brunt 
Of  the  hot  fight  with  the  foe. 

We  have  swept  o'er  farm  and  fen 
Of  many  a  foreign  strand, 
And  our  name  is  feared  of  men 
In  the  lore  of  every  land, 
We  start  at  the  bugle  call 
As  fleet  as  a  bird  on  wing, 
And  we're  ready  to  fight  and  fall 
For  the  honor  of  the  king. 


144 


THE  RANGE  OF  BEAUTY 

I  LOVE  the  wild  free  play  of  life,  unfettered  force  in 

motion, 
The  racing  wind,  the  lightning  flash,  the  tempest  on 

the  ocean, 
I  crave  the  boon  of  thunderbolts,  the  rocking  of  the 

mountains,  — 
Yet  love  I  still  the  tumbling  rill,  the  pretty  play  of 

fountains. 

The  thirst  of  force  is  in  my  blood,  the  cannon's  deadly 

rattle, 
The  charging  of  the  White  Hussars,  the  blind  alarms 

of  battle, 
The  rage  of  roaring  river-floods,  the  shock  of  clanging 

cities,  — 
And  yet  I  love  the  magic  of  the  poet's  little  ditties. 

I  call  for  life,  for  bounding  life,  the  soul  in  conflagra 
tion, 

The  splendid  speed  of  meteors,  the  prophet's  exulta 
tion, 

I  dare  to  dream  the  wrath  of  God,  the  human  hate  of 
duty, 

For  these  reveal  and  force  me  feel  the  mighty  range  of 
beauty. 

145 


CAPTIVE 

OH,  Kirkwood  is  a  fine  town,  snugly  nestled  by  the 

hills, 
Eastward  fringed  by  many  meadows  running  gold  with 

daffodils, 
Westward  banked  by  three  blue  mountains  walling 

off  the  sweeping  sea 
Which  lies  scarlet  toward  the  sunset  with  its  miles  of 

majesty. 

There  are  simple  folks  in  Kirkwood,  some  five  hundred 

souls  or  more, 
Who  are  satisfied  with  meadows  and  the  mountains 

at  their  door, 
They  have  little  need  of  cities,  with  then*  grime  and 

grind  and  glare 
And  they  ask  not  more  of  fortune  than  their  frugal 

country  fare. 

Once  I  gamboled  in  their  hayfields  in  the  heavy  heat 

of  noon, 
And  stole  peaches  in  their  orchards  by  the  dim  light 

of  the  moon, 

146 


CAPTIVE 

Climbed  the  mountains  in  the  morning,  young  and 

frisky  as  the  dawn, 
But  since  then  full  sixty  summers  silently  have  come 

and  gone. 

Ah,  I  know  brave  lads  go  roaming  where  my  young 
heart  loved  to  roam 

Ere  the  wiles  of  shining  cities  lured  me  from  my  boy 
hood  home, 

And  I  fain  would  shake  my  fetters  and  go  back  to  them 
to-day, 

Simple-hearted,  free  and  careless,  join  them  in  their 
pranks  and  play. 

To  go  back!  —  what  riot-dreaming!  there  are  gulfs 

between  us  now, 
Time,  the  enemy  unbending,  hath  put  silver  on  my 

brow, 
And  the  jealous-tempered  city,  with  its  many-splen- 

dored  mart, 
Holds  me  captive  to  the  music  of  the  multitude's  great 

heart. 


147 


DARTMOUTH 


THE  LADS  THAT  ONCE  I  KNEW 

THE  lads  that  once  I  knew 

Where  are  they  gone,  I  wonder; 
The  hill  winds  rose  and  blew 

OUT  lives  one  day  asunder, 
And  some  I  've  never  seen 

Since  when,  half  broken-hearted, 
With  hands  clasped  in  the  Green 

We  said  good-bye  and  parted. 

The  lads  that  once  I  knew 

Cannot  all  come  together, 
Time  has  cut  down  a  few 

And  loosed  our  old-time  tether; 
The  bonds  that  once  have  been, 

Wear  out  when  pathways  sever, 
And  most  of  these  good  men 

Are  lost  to  me  forever. 


151 


THE  PEACE  OF  COLLEGE 

So  forceful  are  the  giant  elms,  the  hills, 
That  this  sharp  bell  which  strikes  the  passing  hours 
Disturbs  not  their  controlling  peace  which  stills 
All  sense  of  strife  beneath  the  college  towers. 

Thus  youth  hears  not  the  faint  and  far  away 
Sad  cry  of  life  —  sadder  than  God's  great  sea  — 
Nor  knows  what  bitter  conflicts  rage  to-day, 
Where  strive  the  millions  of  humanity. 


152 


THE  moon  o'er  the  hills  to-night! 

A  song  where  the  spring-leaves  blow, 
The  setting  of  Youth's  delight. 

Pale  lamps  of  our  learning's  height ! 

What  is  it  shames  you  so? 
The  moon  o'er  the  hills  to-night! 

O,  the  wine  is  sparkling  bright 

With  its  subtle,  sunshine  glow  — 
The  setting  of  Youth's  delight. 

The  halls  are  ivory  white, 
The  river  mirrors  below, 
The  moon  o'er  the  hills  to-night. 

Our  hearts  were  fashioned  aright 
For  the  comradeship  we  know, 
The  setting  of  Youth's  delight. 

Come !  We  shall  be  happy  in  spite 

That  all  shall  fleetingly  go  — 
The  moon  o'er  the  hills  to-night, 
The  setting  of  Youth's  delight! 

153 


MISSING 

THE  lads  come  back  in  autumn, 
The  coach  climbs  up  the  hill, 

And  lusty  lungs  are  singing, 
But  one  good  pair  is  still. 

The  bells  ring  out  for  chapel 
Their  old  song  and  refrain, 

But  now  their  morning  music 
For  one  shall  ring  in  vain. 

And  all  about  the  campus 
The  elms  look  on  the  scene 

Searching  for  one  young  Spartan 
Who  used  to  wear  the  Green. 

Down  on  the  grim  old  oval 

Eight  hundred  men  give  cheers, 

But  one  staunch  voice  is  missing 
From  the  shouts  for  the  Grenadiers. 

Perhaps  he  still  is  with  us, 

It  cannot  be  denied 
A  man  might  finish  college 

Despite  the  fact  he  died. 
154 


WE  GATHER  BACK 

WE  gather  back  again,  boys, 

To  pledge  our  hearts  anew; 
We  gather  back  again,  boys, 

With  love  as  firm  and  true 
As  they  who  came  here  first,  boys, 

A  hundred  years  ago, 
With  hearts  that  were  undaunted  at 

The  wilderness  of  snow. 

We  gather  back  again,  boys, 

As  we  shall  come  here  ever, 
Though  youth  may  lose  its  garlands  gay 

And  time  our  ways  may  sever; 
We  gather  back  again,  boys, 

Where  memories  ne'er  perish, 
To  the  temple  of  our  Fathers 

Whose  deathless  name  we  cherish. 


155 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  LIGHT-HEARTED 

LET  's  leave  our  sorrow  for  to-morrow ! 

Come,  laugh,  life  now  is  young, 
Let 's  save  our  tears  for  after  years 

When  youth's  gay  song  is  sung; 
We  still  are  boys,  let's  take  the  joys 

And  drink  them  deep  and  strong, 
With  laughing  eyes  'neath  cloud-free  skies, 

Youth's  highway  is  not  long. 

The  heart  of  you,  my  comrade  true, 

Though  fast  the  years  may  slip, 
From  my  light  heart  shall  never  part 

In  this  good  fellowship; 
For  us  no  care,  we  '11  take  the  dare 

To  live  like  cavaliers, 
For  what's  the  folly  if  we're  jolly? 

The  mirth  of  youth  endears. 

Let 's  court  good  cheer  and  banish  fear, 

Let 's  play  the  prince  and  king, 
And  drink  life's  wine  hi  shade  and  shine 

While  with  strong  hearts  we  sing; 
For  life  is  free  and  mad  with  glee, 

Then  violins  and  lute! 
The  music  light  we  sing  to-night 

Will  soon  enough  be  mute. 
156 


DARTMOUTH 

ON  many  fields  of  conflict  you  have  heard  her  glory 
sung, 

And  far  across  our  country  her  victories  have  rung; 

Best  loved  among  the  colleges  —  our  Dartmouth  is  the 
Queen,  — 

Then  a  toast  to-night  to  Dartmouth  and  to  her  eter 
nal  Green! 

It  is,  sir,  a  small  college  by  Connecticut's  fair  stream, 
Yet  there  are  those  who  love  her  and  of  her  triumphs 

dream; 
Brave  Wheelock  loved  her  first,  when  he  taught  the 

Redman  truth, 
And  all  her  sons  have  loved  her  who  have  lingered 

there  with  youth. 

O'er  New  Hampshire's  granite  mountains  broods  her 

spirit  strong  and  true, 

And  in  every  new-born  son  Dartmouth  spirit  lives  anew ; 
Brother  stands  to  shelter  brother  in  the  face  of  every 

gale, 
And  we  all  have  set  a  watchday  lest  the  old  traditions 

fail. 

157 


THE  GREEN  GRENADIERS 

IF  your  sporting  blood  is  royal  you  won't  curse  me  if 

I'm  loyal, 

If  I  give  one  side  my  sympathies  and  cheers, 
You  have  privileges  as  equal,  these  remarks  have  just 

this  sequel  — 
I  'm  a  rooter  for  the  Green's  own  Grenadiers. 

You  may  have  another  story  that  is  writ  in  crimson 

glory, 

Of  a  college  that  has  nursed  your  youthful  years; 
Give  her  then  your  fiercest  spirit  and  the  outcome 

never  fear  it, 
But  my  heart  is  with  the  Green's  own  Grenadiers. 

For  what  boots  a  football  battle  and  the  crowd's  in 
cessant  rattle, 

If  it  quickens  not  your  deepest  hopes  and  fears? 

You  of  Harvard's  great  endeavor,  join  and  cheer  her 
sons  forever, 

I  shall  cheer  my  heart  out  for  my  Grenadiers. 

And  if  victory  refuses,  —  if  the  Green 's  the  team  that 

loses  — 

Grief  I  '11  have,  but  never  grief  of  tears, 
I  will  give  old  Harvard  credit,  but  my  heart  she'll 

never  wed  it, 

For  my  heart  is  with  the  big  Green  Grenadiers. 

158 


FIGHT! 

(Harvard-Dartmouth  Football  Game,  1908.) 

THE  Stadium  is  nervous,  Johnny  Harvard  's  feeling 

queer, 
For  they  Ve  got  a  team  a-coming  that  is  quite  their 

fighting  peer; 
Johnny's  memory  is  pricking  and  his  mind 's  not  quite 

serene, 
For  he  knows  there's  nothing  yellow  in  the  wearers 

of  the  Green. 

"  Ready,  Dartmouth?  "   On  your  toes! 

"  Ready,  Harvard?  "   Off  she  goes ! 
O,  it 's  fight,  you  bloody  Crimson, 
And  it's  fight,  you  gallant  Green; 
And  whichever  whips  the  other, 
Please  to  whip  him  good  and  clean. 

Eleazar  Wheelock's  savages  have  chewed  the  Tiger 

up; 
Now  't  would  please  their  hungry  appetites  on  Johnny 

H.  to  sup. 
Fight  your  hardest,  Johnny  Harvard,  you  have  got  a 

lot  to  fear, 
That  game  may  make  the  pennant  team  of  all  this 

funny  year. 

159 


FIGHT! 

Ready,  Harvard?  "   Down  the  field ! 
;  Ready,  Dartmouth?  "  Do  not  yield ! 
O,  it 's  fight,  you  bloody  Crimson, 
And  it's  fight,  you  gallant  Green; 
And  whichever  whips  the  other, 
Please  to  whip  him  good  and  clean. 


160 


THE  CHRISTENING  OF  THE  STADIUM 

IT  was  the  greatest  game  that  year  that  mortal  ever 

saw, 
The  Stadium  shook  and  trembled  with  the  ringing 

Wah-Who-Wah, 
As  down  the  field  the  Dartmouth  team  in  fierceness 

fought  its  way 
And  christened  Harvard's  Stadium  on  that  immortal 

day. 

They  christened  it  with  emerald  —  deep  hues  of  Irish 

sheen, 
Till  over  all  of  Cambridge  town  the  gloom  was  tinted 

green, 
And  though  old  Harvard's  valiant  hosts  have  long  since 

flaunted  red, 
That  coat  of  green  will  stay  right  there  till  football 

days  are  dead. 

It  was  our  giant  fighting  team,  the  best  of  all  the 

years, 

Our  iron-hearted  infantry,  the  big  green  Grenadiers, 
Great  Witham,  Knibbs,  and  Gilman,  and  a  dozen 

splendid  men,  — 

Oh,  when  shall  Eleazar's  sons  behold  their  like  again? 

161 


THE  CHRISTENING   OF  THE  STADIUM 

Gone  is  the  day  of  weight  and  strength,  and  the  clock 
work-like  machine, 

Now  light,  fleet-footed  lads  uphold  the  honor  of  the 
Green, 

But  change  nor  time  shall  not  wipe  out  that  mighty 
memory, 

The  celebrated  christening  in  famous  oughty-three. 


162 


THE  WORLD'S  RECORD 

(High  Hurdles:  Arthur  Briggs  Shaw,  1908.) 

WE  saw  a  flash  go  down  the  track,  the  flying  figure 

sped, 
Leading  the  field  of  college  stars  and  finished  yards 

ahead; 
A  timber-topping  race  like  that  the  world  had  never 

seen 
Till  he  did  fifteen  seconds,  lad,  wearing  the  Dartmouth 

green. 

They  said  he  had  on  wings  that  day,  and  so  I  half 

believed, 
I  saw  great  Hubbard  far  behind  and  thought  my  sight 

deceived; 
But  it  was  a  famous  fact,  my  boy,  that  feat  of  Arthur 

Shaw, 
We  cheered  him  to  the  echo  with  the  Dartmouth 

Wah-Who-Wah. 

The  Grecians  gave  a  laurel  crown  to  winners  such  as  he, 

The  laurel  wreath  we  give  to  him  is  fame  eternally; 

For  he  did  fifteen  seconds,  lad,  which  men  had  never 
seen, 

And  he  brought  glory  unto  us  —  he  wore  the  Dart 
mouth  Green. 

163 


NO  MORE  DREAMING 

(Written  at  the  Opening  of  the  Campaign  for  the  New  Gymnasium. 
1908) 

I  HAVE  lighted  the  dear  old  pipe  again 

To  think  the  matter  o'er, 
Just  as  a  legion  of  Dartmouth  men 

Have  done  like  me  before. 

The  same  old  dream  curls  up  in  smoke 

Blue  as  Havana's  skies, 
And  I  feel  the  iron  strength  of  its  yoke 

And  I  think  of  its  Paradise. 

Thinking  and  dreaming!  yet  never  an  act 

Of  mine  to  build  the  dream; 
Do  I  worship  the  dream  and  hate  the  fact? 

Ah,  this  the  case  doth  seem. 

False  the  impression !  yet  you  and  I 
Have  worshiped  the  dream  too  long; 

Then  no  more  dreaming  —  but  do  it  or  die ! 
We  are  not  a  weakling  throng. 

When  the  dream  is  girded  in  steel  and  stone 

We  can  take  our  pipes  again, 
And  smoke  all  together,  or  smoke  alone 

The  peace  of  Wheelock's  men. 
164 


THE  SPIRIT  IS  TRUE 

WHERE  is  the  old-time  Dartmouth,  the  Dartmouth 
that  once  had  been? 

The  sweatered  race  with  its  grizzly  face,  and  the  raw 
hide  booted  men? 

From  the  campus  it  all  has  vanished  as  the  snow  that 
melts  through  night, 

And  now  in  its  stead  you  hear  the  tread  of  the  lads  who 
are  dressed  "just  right." 

Through  the  streets  where  a  farmer's  oxen  once  moved 

with  a  stately  jar, 
You  may  hear  the  whir  and  behold  the  blur  of  a  passing 

motor-car; 
And  out  hi  front  of  the  Commons  where  the  tides  of 

youth  still  run, 
You  may  estimate  the  fashion-plate  as  he  gleams  in 

the  morning  sun. 

There  are  few  who  chew  their  tobacco,  though  some 

still  follow  the  cards, 
But  in  spite  of  the  range  of  this  great  change,  these 

men  are  as  good  old  pards 
As  any  who  walked  hi  rawhides  hi  the  long-lost  days 

of  old, 
When  the  bearded  boys  with  then-  corduroys  were  the 

keepers  of  the  fold. 

165 


For  whether  in  Eighteen-fif  ty,  or  whether  in  Nineteen- 

ten 
You  measure  their  fame,  the  heart  is  the  same  in  all 

good  Dartmouth  men; 
The  march  of  the  angel  Progress  has  burnished  the 

outer  man, 
But  the  spirit  is  true  hi  me  and  you  though  we  be  more 

spick  and  span. 


166 


PLAINT  OF  A  YOUNG  LAWYER 

THE  rain  runs  rivers  down  the  streets,  the  fog  is  on  the 

sea, 

It  surely  is  a  rotten  day  to  earn  a  lawyer's  fee; 
I  'm  sick  of  petty  broils  and  courts  and  O !  I  wish  I  were 
A  care-free  college  lad  again  in  dear  old  Hanover. 

For  Hanover  is  always  gay 
Though  rain  and  snow  come  down; 
There 's  always  twenty  lads  to  play 
A  game  in  that  old  town; 
There 's  always  some  inviting  den 
With  good  fresh  "dope"  to  hear;  — 
I  wish  I  were  a  lad  again 
In  Hanover  so  dear. 

I  've  got  a  spell  of  blues  to-day,  I  'm  gripped  by  slavish 

fears, 

I'd  give  away  my  pot  of  gold  to  go  back  seven  years; 
I  want  to  see  the  boys  once  more,  my  comrades  of  the 

Green, 
I  'd  like  to  throw  the  chips  again  in  Richardson  Sixteen. 

For  study  never  weighs  you  down, 
You  never  groan  with  knowledge, 
And  care  lives  not  hi  that  old  town 
Which  shelters  Dartmouth  College; 
167 


PLAINT  OF  A  YOUNG  LAWYER 

There  are  some  good,  sweet  pipes  to  smoke 
And  oftentimes  a  "drappy"; 
It  matters  not  if  you  are  broke, 
You  cannot  help  be  happy. 

But  all  the  lads  I  used  to  know  have  long  ago  departed, 
I  should  not  find  them  in  then*  rooms,  I  'd  come  back 

heavy-hearted; 
And  so  I  can  but  sit  and  dream  and  wish  that  some 

kind  fairy 
Would  flash  me  back  to  Hanover  with  all  my  comrades 

merry. 

For  Hanover  would  cure  the  ills 
That  on  my  soul  are  thronging, 
The  sight  of  those  New  Hampshire  hills 
Would  still  my  restless  longing; 
Youth  never  pauses  in  its  sweep, 
But  past  old  'Scutney's  mountain 
I  know  a  place  where  good  men  keep 
A  youth-renewal  fountain. 


168 


TO  WEBSTER 

I  've  never  drunk  wine  before,  sir,  but  I  tell  you  what, 
dear  Dan, 

I  '11  drink  a  toast  to  you  as  host,  for  you  were  a  Dart 
mouth  man; 

You're  the  giant  of  generations,  and  I  swear  by  the 
gods  to-day 

You  '11  be  the  best  when  all  the  rest  have  passed  with 
the  years  away. 

I  drink  to  you  three  times  three,  sir,  and  then,  if  I  'm 

sober  still, 
I  '11  drink  one  more  to  the  men  of  yore,  and  the  college 

on  the  hill; 
For  you  came  of  the  ancient  Dartmouth,  and  you  kept 

her  foes  at  bay, 
And  your  name  resounds  o'er  the  marble  mounds  of 

the  foes  you  fought  that  day. 

You  carried  the  flag  of  Dartmouth  till  it  streamed  in 

a  continent's  ken, 
And  in  your  name  still  lives  the  fame  which  you  brought 

to  Dartmouth  men; 
The  upturned  eyes  of  a  nation  and  the  echo  of  endless 

cheers 
Were  rightly  yours,  —  your  work   endures   and  will 

through  all  the  years. 
169 


TO  WEBSTER 

The  men  who  maligned  your  honor,  ah!  their  mouths 

are  stopped  with  dust, 
Through  eternity  you'll  always  be  our  Webster  great 

and  just; 
You're  the  giant  of  generations,  and  I  tell  you  what, 

dear  Dan, 
With  lips  still  wet  I  place  the  bet  you  are  Dartmouth's 

biggest  man. 


170 


THE  DEPARTED 

WHILE  yet  their  fagots  scarce  had  burned 

On  Alma  Mater's  altar  fire, 
With  Life's  long  lessons  still  unlearned, 

They  left  our  land  of  dear  desire. 

Ambition  had  not  plumed  its  wings 
Nor  genius  won  its  myrtle  crown, 

Before  they  passed  to  higher  things, 
Laying  the  lesser  laurels  down. 

They  clasped  at  once  the  Holy  Grail 
Across  the  dark,  mysterious  stream, 

Yet  I  hear  voices  on  the  gale 
And  still  behold  them  stand  and  dream. 

Like  figures  on  a  Grecian  vase, 

Which  foot  nor  finger  ne'er  can  raise, 

I  see  them  as  they  quit  the  race 
Along  the  course  of  college  days. 

And  I  who  must  press  on  and  fight 
Far  through  the  fields  of  future  years 

Have  shrined  these  men  in  hallowed  light, 
Blessing  their  memories  with  tears. 
171 


THE  ANCIENT  THREE 

THEY  are  old  and  worn  and  dreary, 

Wentworth,  Reed,  and  Thornton  Halls, 
Not  by  half  so  bright  and  cheery 

As  our  later,  modern  walls; 
They  don't  "stack  up"  with  New  Hampshire 

Or  with  Massachusetts  Row, 
And  they  're  dark,  a  trifle  damp,  sir, 

These  old  "dorms"  of  long  ago. 

Yet  I  swear  dreams  cling  about  them 

Of  the  ancient  Indian  days, 
No  smart  sophomore  may  flout  them 

When  he  speaks  a  building's  praise; 
They  have  faced  more  wintry  weather 

Housed  more  lads,  these  pioneers, 
Than  all  new  ones  put  together, 

Reared  in  late,  affluent  years. 

Sons  of  Wheelock  without  number, 

Good  sons,  great  sons,  stanch  and  true, 

Sons  who  now  have  gone  to  slumber, 
Sons  who  never  saw  the  new, 
172 


THE   ANCIENT   THREE 

Toiled  in  these  old  halls  of  knowledge 
Dream-lit  by  then-  young  desires, 

And  they  made  up  Dartmouth  College,  — 
For  these  same  sons  were  our  sires. 

Thornton  may  look  rough  and  musty, 

Reed  may  lack  luxurious  style, 
Wentworth's  bedrooms  may  be  dusty, 

Bathrooms,  too,  seem  short  of  tile; 
They  don't  "class"  with  Dartmouth's  latest, 

Those  on  Massachusetts  Row, 
But  these  "dorms"  are  still  our  greatest,  — 

Classic  links  with  long  ago. 


173 


INAUGURATION  SONNETS 

(Inauguration  of  President  Nichols,  October  1&,  1909) 
WILLIAM  JEWETT  TUCKER 

THE  ships  which  set  out  from  the  ancient  shore 
Of  Truth's  vast  sea,  pause  not  their  onward  sweep 
With  change  of  captains.  For,  on  that  stern  deep 
All  ships  exceed  commanders.  .  .  .  Though  no  more 
His  voice  shall  ring  above  the  sentient  roar 
Yet  shall  our  bark  bear  on.  But  we  who  keep 
Its  sails  before  the  wind  —  Ah !  we  shall  weep 
For  loss  of  this  one  man  our  hearts  adore. 
O'er  all  the  seas  he  led  us  stanch  and  true, 
His  leadership  harks  back  for  many  a  mile; 
And  can  it  be  that  we  must  say  adieu 
To  him  who  brought  us  to  this  treasure  isle? 
Farewell !  Ah,  no,  —  the  word  has  too  much  rue, 
He  would  not  have  it  thus  —  he  bids  us  smile. 

ERNEST  FOX  NICHOLS 

WHEN  dies  the  king,  the  king  must  live,  and  so 
With  Truth,  the  torch  must  burn  on  through  the  night, 
For  men  have  grievous  need  of  all  its  light, 
As  through  a  darkened  world  they  grope  and  go. 

174 


INAUGURATION   SONNETS 

The  bearer  must  have  strength  to  meet  the  woe, 
Heart,  mind,  faith,  hope,  and  love  for  every  plight, 
Courage  which  never  falters  in  the  fight  — 
And  he  has  all  of  these  —  Ah,  well  we  know. 
So  takes  he  the  command,  and  for  his  need 
We  offer  him  our  steadfast  loyalty, 
And  in  the  frontier  fields  where  he  shall  lead, 
Our  tall,  green  plumes  shall  wave  in  majesty, 
Till  all  the  fields  shall  shout  of  some  great  deed 
Such  as  shall  last  through  God's  eternity. 


175 


CLASS  POEM 

(Commencement,  1907) 

LIKE  Lotus-eaters,  late  disturbed  from  sleep, 
We  rise  to  answer  voices  from  the  wave 
Which  call  us  from  the  moorings  we  would  keep 
To  far  horizons,  o'er  a  dreamless  deep; 
Yet  loath  are  we  to  leave  the  spot  that  gave 
The  food  for  all  our  dreams,  both  gay  and  grave, 
But  still  we  face  the  hour  which  has  come 
As  men  who  have  the  courage  to  be  brave 
When  lips  speak  not  and  every  heart  is  dumb ! 

But  ere  we  go  our  tribute  we  shall  pay; 

As  Spartans  to  their  sacred  temple  went, 

We  seek  the  shrine  of  Dartmouth  ere  the  day 

Dies  in  the  west  and  finds  us  on  our  way, 

Love's  vow  unsaid.   No  words  can  speech  invent 

To  frame  the  feelings  in  our  bosoms  pent, 

As  kneeling  at  the  Altar  of  the  Fold 

We  seal  the  vows  which  time  cannot  repent, 

To  stainless  keep  Her  spotless  name  of  gold ! 

Soft  singing  floats  across  the  trembling  air! 
The  pines  are  murmuring  from  hilltops  nigh, 
The  giant  campus-elms,  as  if  to  bear 
Their  brunt  of  song,  are  chanting  forth  a  prayer 
176 


To  swell  the  subtle  chorus  of  good-bye 
And  make  our  going  glorious,  while  high 
Above  the  muffled  anthem  is  the  voice 
Of  Alma  Mater,  bidding  us  but  try 
To  live  and  love,  and  in  our  love  rejoice ! 

To  live  and  love  —  this  message  long  will  dwell  — 
God  strengthen  us  its  blessing  not  to  shame ! 
But  rather,  all  our  days  to  cherish  well 
The  gifts  She  gave  to  us;  no  tongue  can  tell 
The  purity  of  purpose  in  Her  aim, 
The  hallowed  glory  garnered  in  Her  name, 
All  tendered  to  Her  sons  without  alloy ! 
If  we  have  been  receptive  to  Her  spell, 
We've  gained  a  heritage  beyond  destroy ! 

The  spell  is  on  us!   Now  in  manhood's  morn 
We  leave  Her  temple-court  of  native  wood 
To  greet  a  world  Her  spirit  has  re-born, 
In  whose  fair  gardens  none  need  be  forlorn, 
For  this  new  sphere  is  Dartmouth  brotherhood ! 
Whoever  once  at  Dartmouth's  shrine  has  stood 
Shall  find  a  comradeship  throughout  the  earth, 
In  which  his  better  self  is  understood 
Because  Her  spirit  seeks  for  manhood's  worth ! 

We  Ve  chummed  as  boys  together;  we  have  played 
At  all  our  sports  upon  the  campus  green, 
177 


CLASS  POEM 

Light-hearted  laughter  known,  and  we  have  made 
Merry  of  things  we  gravely  should  have  weighed; 
The  boyish  antics  acted  on  this  scene 
Immortal  live  in  memory's  demesne, 
Familiar  faces,  happy  in  their  play, 
Shall  often  peer  from  out  the  fadeless  sheen, 
Affection's  tender  ghosts  of  yesterday ! 

As  tones  unlike  have  formed  the  chapel  chimes, 
So  have  our  lives  been  made  of  unlike  things 
Which  ran  together  strangely  into  rhymes 
And  given  us  a  consciousness,  betimes, 
Which  told  us  of  the  richness  of  these  springs, 
Here  where  the  restless  voice  of  wisdom  rings 
To  urge  ambitious  youth  to  gain  the  goal, 
That  ever  in  the  eager  fancy  clings, 
And  urging,  —  builds  anon  the  subtle  soul ! 

We  cannot  tell  what  subtleties  these  are 
That  now  are  part  of  us,  yet  this  we  know  — 
The  great  green  hills,  the  streams,  the  clouds  afar, 
The  barren  rocks,  the  snows,  the  winter  star, 
The  summer  breeze,  the  northern  blasts  that  blow 
Have  entered  in  as  friend  and  not  as  foe! 
New  Hampshire  is  a  Magus  who  has  wrought 
Fair-fashioned  pearls  which  evermore  will  go 
Unceasing  round  the  rosary  of  thought. 


178 


CLASS   POEM 

The  greatest  gift  of  Dartmouth  is  the  face 
Of  him  who  led  us  through  the  precious  years 
In  fearless  firmness,  clothed  in  gentle  grace, 
Our  President !   He  holds  his  tender  place 
Too  deep  within  our  souls  for  shallow  tears! 
He  loves  us  with  a  love  the  heart  reveres 
As  sacred ;  he,  like  Him  of  Nazareth, 
In  grandeur  rises  o'er  all  human  fears 
And  leaves  the  legacy  which  conquers  death ! 

Dear  Alma  Mater!  All  our  words  are  vain! 
Though  marshaled  all  the  meaning  speech  supplies, 
The  Alps  of  fond  affection  yet  remain 
Cloud-capped  above  the  flat,  familiar  plain 
Of  spoken  thought!  In  thee  we  recognize 
The  Mother  who  has  shown  us  Paradise! 
As  mutely  now  we  part  with  clasp  of  hand, 
Ah !  teach  us  hi  our  going  in  what  wise 
We  may  contrive  to  make  Thee  understand 
The  love  of  loyal  hearts  which  Thou  must  e'er 
command ! 


179 


THIRD   REUNION   POEM 

(Class  of  1907) 
(Delivered  at  Hanover,  June,  1910) 

OH,  some  are  here  and  some  are  there,  they  are  scat 
tered  the  whole  world  over, 

But  the  word  we  give  to  all  that  live  is  the  luck  of  the 
four-leaf  clover; 

We  are  gathered  now  to  take  the  vow  that  the  men  of 
Oughty-Seven 

Shall  stand  as  friend  to  the  very  end,  till  we  meet  in 
God's  high  heaven. 

We  are  out  on  the  long,  long  road 
With  its  rough  rocks  and  sharp  turning, 
Each  with  the  weight  of  his  load 
And  a  soul  with  life-fires  burning, 
Out  in  the  brunt  of  the  storm 
Of  the  wide  world's  fierce  endeavor, 
But  the  heart  of  each  man  is  warm 
And  it  will  be  warm  forever. 

Oh,  some  are  strong  with  cheer  and  song,  and  some  are 

sick  with  sorrow, 
And  some  have  gone  hi  silence  on,  and  they  rise  not 

with  to-morrow, 

180 


THIRD  REUNION  POEM 

But  in  what  land  our  comrades  stand,  they  raise  to 
day  their  glasses 

And  clink  and  drink  while  heartstrings  link  for  the  best 
of  Dartmouth  classes. 

One  mile,  —  two  miles,  —  three,  — 

We  have  left  their  tales  behind  us, 

And  whatever  their  records  be, 

To  this  no  cloud  shall  blind  us,  — 

That  we  must  aspire  to  do 

A  work  that  is  good  and  glorious, 

And  to  our  ideals  be  true 

And  hope  for  the  goal  victorious. 

For  some  shall  bleed  in  sorest  need  as  onward  they  go 

in  battle, 
And  some  shall  come  with  flag  and  drum  unharmed 

through  rage  and  rattle, 
But  whether  our  fate  be  pain  and  hate,  or  gold  and 

fame  and  pleasure, 
Beneath  all  skies  we  still  must  rise  to  a  Dartmouth 

man's  full  measure. 

Then  we  will  join  hands  for  strength, 
(They  win  who  are  best  united), 
As  we  go  down  the  road's  long  length 
Till  the  gleam  of  the  goal  be  sighted, 


181 


THIRD  REUNION  POEM 

And  each  man  will  give  of  his  blood, 
As  his  dear  Alma  Mater  has  given, 
For  a  world's  better  brotherhood 
And  the  honor  of  Oughty-Seven. 

Oh,  some  are  here  and  some  are  there,  they  are  scat 
tered  the  whole  world  over, 

But  the  word  we  give  to  all  that  live  is  the  luck  of  the 
four-leaf  clover, 

For  in  what  land  our  comrades  stand,  they  raise  to-day 
their  glasses 

And  clink  and  drink  while  heartstrings  link  for  the  best 
of  Dartmouth  classes. 


182 


THY  DREAMS  ARE  THE  DEEDS  OF  MEN 

OF  mighty  sons  now  sleeping  and  of  mighty  sons  to  be, 
Born  of  thy  cogent  spirit  as  broad  as  the  boundless  sea, 
Dartmouth,  our  Alma  Mater!  Thy  dreams  are  the 

deeds  of  men 
That  will  sweep  us  on  to  the  crimson  dawn  of  the 

golden  age  again; 

Mother  of  fearless  yeomen  whose  battle  cry  is  "Right," 
Into  the  world  thou  sendest  us,  and  thy  command  is 

"Fight!" 
Fight  for  the  ideals  cherished,  fight  for  the  true  and 

good, 

Till  our  infantry  win  victory  'neath  the  flag  of  brother 
hood. 

Many  thy  sons  are  sleeping,  their  trumpets  are  silent 

now, 
But  we  who  carry  thy  battle-flag  may  yet  fulfil  thy 

vow; 
Dartmouth!    Our  Alma  Mater!    Our  dreams  are  the 

deeds  of  youth, 
Yet  girded  with  might  we  shall  rise  and  fight  for  the 

endless  cause  of  truth; 
183 


THY  DREAMS  ARE  THE  DEEDS  OF  MEN 

Into  a  world  that's  struggling  in  the  iron  clutch  of 
wrong 

We  shall  take  our  arms  and  muster  them  to  the  strain 
of  thy  battle-song, 

And  the  ideals  shall  be  cherished,  the  beautiful  and 
good, 

Till  our  infantry  win  victory  'neath  the  flag  of  brother 
hood. 


184 


THE  LAST  MAN 

BACK  at  Commencement  time  he  came, 

Over  the  Campus  I  saw  him  pass, 
Old  and  infirm  and  walking  lame; 

He  was  the  last  man  of  his  class. 

No  close  chums  of  his  college  days 

Rushed  forth  to  take  him  by  the  hand,  — 

He  walked  alone  the  dear  old  ways, 
Survivor  of  a  fallen  band. 

Though  we  who  look  face  to  the  fore 
Spoke  words  to  him  of  kindly  cheer, 

They  charmed  him  not.   In  Thornton's  door 
I  saw  him  brush  away  a  tear. 

His  hunger  was  for  other  men, 

Not  we  who  sprightly  whistled  by;  - 

He  dreamed  of  times  that  once  had  been, 
He  longed  —  I  heard  him  heave  a  sigh. 

He  passed  through  Thornton's  threshold,  —  grim 
And  scarred  from  wars  with  Father  Time; 

I  watched  him  go,  and  wished  for  him 
Reunion  in  another  clime. 


{"555 672  780 


